The Watcher's Diary
by endlessmuse
Summary: Rupert Giles writes down his thoughts concerning his charge, one Buffy Summers, throughout her Slaying career. Snark, British pride and a father's love found within. Each entry is based on an episode and will span every episode that Giles appears in.
1. Welcome to the Hellmouth

The world is doomed.

I sit here, recounting my first few days with the new Slayer, and it is the only thought resounding in my head. As Watcher, I am required to keep an accurate account of the events surrounding the Slayer. They, who she vanquishes, and those whom she encounters. I have already set aside a journal in which I shall record the enemies the Slayer faces with astute observations on how they were vanquished and what any weaknesses they may have, for future reference.

As such, this diary is to primarily be used to understand the Slayer, and by extension, my thoughts on her and this new Slaying world she inhabits. For, I have read the histories of previous Watchers and their Slayers, and never have I encountered a Slayer quite like her . . . like Buffy Summers.

For one, she is ostentatious. She contains this confusing desire to maintain a private life. A private life, it should be noted, that exists entirely outside of her duties as a Slayer. Never before, have I read of this desire. Slayers are born to duty and purpose. They know nothing outside of training, studying and Slaying. Yet, Miss Summers has interests outside of these three realms. That it perplexes me would be a severe understatement. It should be noted that her interests include three other realms: boys, spending time with boys, and looking well in front of boys. Tedious.

When I first encountered her, she expressed her steadfast desire to "retire" from Slaying. As if one can truly divert from one's destiny. I attempted such a course once myself, and it required a loss of life and a lifetime's supply of guilt to guide me back to the correct path. The destiny of the Slayer is a tad more abrupt and crucial. Try as she might, Buffy will always be the Slayer, and as such she is compelled to help the innocent. She cannot deny this part of her any more than I can deny the Union Jack. This principle she appears to understand, but as she stated to me earlier tonight in the din known as The Bronze, her personal life comes first.

I had to leave Miss Summers at The Bronze when she divulged a particularly interesting bit of information. Something called The Harvest. I have been searching for information regarding this ritual whilst writing this entry. There are a few selections on it in the _Histories of Vampires and Vampiric Rituals_ , but further study is required. I'm not sure if Miss Summers was successful with her hunt of the vampire in The Bronze, or not, but I am not as concerned as perhaps I ought to be. For, though she may rebel against her destiny, Miss Summers' list of successful Slayings is, to put it mildly, impressive. During her time in LA, before I met her, she triumphed against her enemies there. Though, the incident regarding the school fire in her gym could have been handled with a tad more discretion. I write this up as a mistake attributed to her former Watcher's loose grip, and not on Miss Summers' _modus operandi._

She has yet to accept me as her Watcher. It's troubling, but I must attempt to put myself in her shoes. I was a troubled teenager once, and so this unique empathetic view might allow me to train her in a manner beneficial to us both, provided I give enough time to understanding her. I am hopeful. There is something in Miss Summers that mystifies me . . . and I think, for the world's survival, that is a rather good thing.

Perhaps the world will not be so doomed, after all.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	2. The Harvest

The Harvest has been terminated.

Forgive the shakiness of my penmanship, the adrenaline is still rather working its way through my system. Though I may have passed my Watcher-Academy training, there is still nothing quite like being thrown into the field. A Watcher is supposed to train and educate his Slayer, but it was clear that this evening, Miss Summers needed my direct assistance. Looking back on the night's events now, I must admit I'm rather proud of myself. I had worried that I may have been stuck in my books for too long, but that I survived, clearly demonstrates that my training has remained with me.

Which reminds me, I must purchase an ice pack for my shoulder blade. I injured it rather achingly when fighting some grotesque she-demon . . . well, vampire, though I poorly summarize for the description of her personality and appearance. Vampires spring from the dark at one's danger. They lurk and hunt and wait for the critical moment when they might strike whilst one is, say, observing the battlefield from a seemingly spot of safety. This female vampire, currently nameless, managed to sneak up on me and pinned me to the ground. Never underestimate a vampire's strength, particularly if one is not a Slayer. Try as I did, she would not budge off of me.

Good heavens, I can still smell the rank stench of her mouth. Years and years of decay, blood and torn tissue have infested and rotted in that mouth. God, I need to take another bath . . .

Ah, better. Now, that I am a tad more relaxed, perhaps I can pen this day's adventure with a more linear story. Now, as described earlier, I had been attempting to uncover everything there is to know about The Harvest. I should take this moment to make mention of the Slayer's two new friends. Alexander, affectionately called, Xander. His friend, Jesse, was taken by the vampires and ultimately turned into one. As is natural for a teenaged boy, he is currently in the anger phase of his grieving period. He's also a bit of a muppet.

Miss Summers' other friend, Willow, however, is surprisingly gifted for a girl her age. Though it took a few moments for her to fully grasp the dark world in which she lived, once she accepted it, she was quick and eager to assist both Buffy and myself. I must admit that without her assistance, it would have likely taken me quite a long time to discover just where the vampires have camped within the underground tunnels. She has a unique ability with the irritating and dystopian-initiator computers. I allowed her to use the library computer, and she cleverly discovered where Buffy and Xander ought to check for Jesse.

As mentioned before, their rescue attempt proved to be fruitless in the end. Jesse had already been turned, all humanity vacant. Though I worked closely with Willow—and she even came in handy during the fight with the female vampire who attacked me—I am wary of allowing their continued involvement in Miss Summers' world. She is the Slayer, not them. I am uncertain if Buffy has lost any friends before, but if she is naïve in this matter, then I shall have to take the time to give her a dose of reality.

I watched before my very eyes the slaughter of a friend, of classmates, even before then. We were successful tonight, but how much of that was luck? How much of it was destiny? One would like to believe that good shall always triumph over evil . . . but I have been a soldier in this world long enough to know that there are always sacrifices. If Miss Summers wishes to continue to involve the two of them in her work, then she will have to accept the inevitability of their fate. My duty is to her, and her alone. I cannot focus on the others as well.

Perhaps tomorrow will lend me a clue as to where Miss Summers' heart rests: With her duty, or with her friends?

-Rupert Giles

1996


	3. Witch

Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers. It has come to my attention that fanfiction does not support a "strike-through" text feature, which is used in some of Giles' more comedic commentaries. As such, I have decided to replace the strike-through with a bold format instead. So, anytime you see bold text, imagine it to be scratched through, please. Scratched, scribbled out. Thank-you! Also, a personal thank-you to the kind reviewer as well as su_herald for sharing my story out. It's people like you that gives a writer courage to share their work.

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Magic is an art. It's a beautiful ballet of light and dark, a performer dancing along the delicate edge that separates the two. With enough study and practice, there is little one cannot accomplish with magic. It is with a tremendous amount of incredulity that I report in these pages that magic was used, so that a student could join the cheerleading squad. Those of the magical community are scoffing, I am sure, and as equally dismayed and disgusted by this usage of magic as I was when it was uncovered. Cheerleading. A sport that renders me utterly mystified. What is its purpose? To inspire groups of people to shout loudly at the players? Are the players not doing that themselves? If not, one ought to suggest employing new players.

I, for one, have never failed to vocalize quite loudly my pride or shame at a football match when Chelsea is playing. I do not need scantily clad girls climbing on top one another to build a tower to encourage me to support my team. Indeed, if they wish to build a human tower, then they ought to join the rugby league. Inconceivable.

What is worst, is that Buffy herself wished to join this . . . this cult! Indeed, I put my foot down and forbade such silly notions, **and though she trembled under my authority** , yet she rebelled against my wishes and joined anyway. Of all organizations to join, she might have chosen something a bit more . . . well, something that would have aided her in the future. For example, a chess club! Such an extracurricular activity would have expanded her mind and helped her think more logically and strategically. This would have benefited her in her Slaying, but no. She chose to wave pompoms.

I am happy to report that she's set those pompoms to the side after the events of the past few days. Buffy nearly lost her life. It was my first true challenge as a Watcher to provide her with protection and information. For a few moments near the end, I thought I had been too late. She'd been inflicted with a Bloodstone Vengeance spell. The first half is rather fun, making one feel as though they'd spent the day at the pub getting sloshed. The second half is far more serious. It attacks the immunity system, the body just failing little by little. It was . . . startling . . . to see someone as strong and energetic as Buffy become so listless. I understand now the fear that Watchers describe when they are unable to do anything but watch their Slayers struggle in a true moment of life and death. Of the white-knuckled, breathless fear that nearly paralyzes, yet spurs oneself into any sort of action that might aid. I cast a spell which reversed the witch's harmful magic, thankfully saving Buffy in the process.

 **And then I was embarrassingly knocked out.** The witch was not all that pleased by this, so she threw a desk at me. A desk which pushed me back into the wall and rendered me unconscious. A lucky strike, really. If my head had simply turned the other way, I'd have only been knocked on my arse, but still been in the battle. Alas.

When I came to, the witch had been banished, and everything had been restored. Buffy had regained her strength quickly. It's interesting how much has changed over the course of a few weeks. When I first encountered Buffy, I was put-off by her apathy towards her destiny, and her preference for a mundane life. And it is quite clear to me as well that though we share a common language, we speak entirely different forms of it. Often, I haven't the slightest clue of what she's trying to say. All the same, especially after this encounter, I realize I have become rather fond of her. She is aware of the pressures put on her, both by myself and her destiny, and yet she retains an . . . well, I suppose the only way I can describe it is a light. It illuminates her. Draws people closer to her, wishing to bask in this light. I admire her. And I am perplexed by her. But one thing is certain: I would die for her.

Another revealing concept this incident with the witch has shown to me is the amount of pressure we put on the young. Buffy stated it rather clearly when she made the off-hand comment about parents "wigging" out if their offspring was not a carbon-copy of them. Have I not experienced this myself? I was told what to do and controlled for much of my life, primarily by my father. I was to be a Watcher. Like him, and like my grandmother before him. It had become a family duty, I had been told. I was a Giles. We protected the world from the forces of darkness. All very grand and dangerous sounding things to a boy of ten. At one point, the expectations and prodding had become too much. I decided that I wished to have my own life and left my family—and their expectations—behind.

Was I a coward for doing this? Was it the right thing for me to do? These questions still wrestle in my heart, when I give them time to do so. All the same, I realized that the way I was guiding Buffy was similar to the way my father had guided me. No friends. No extracurricular activities. Just studying and training **. I will not be my father**. I have decided to give Buffy some leeway. Provided her Slaying does not slack, she can maintain a private life and any activities she wishes to participate in. Buffy is not like the Slayers before her. I am beginning to see that now . . . to understand it.

I will do better for her.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	4. Teacher's Pet

The pounding in my head is incredible.

This is a direct result of battle performed against a _Klepto-Virgo_ , otherwise known as a She-Mantis, earlier tonight. Indeed, this creature saw fit to make her residence at Sunnydale and prey on the hormone-driven male population at the local high school. This entry should serve as a reminder to be wary of well-proportioned and exotically beautiful women. One can also derive this lesson from the popular—and British— _James Bond_ novels. Yes, novels. They are always superior to their ghastly and mummer's re-imagination display in film. Ian Fleming has crafted gorgeous women who, not always, but at times trick Bond into some treacherous and well-crafted trap. Miss Natalie French, as the She-Mantis called herself, is a prime example of this careful seduction.

Indeed, I am ashamed to say that even I was unaware of the true creature hidden behind the well-crafted contours of her features. When Mr. Gregory was found dead, and his passing was considered one of the few I remark upon with sincere remorse, it was Buffy who began to put clues together. Her interest in insects was, at first, confusing and rather out-of-field, in my opinion. Though, perhaps my stance is a wee colored by the festering sore she inflicted on me earlier. Buffy lied to me. I forbade her from hunting for this forked vampire that had been roaming Sunnydale until we had learned more about this vampire. She looked at me in the face and promised she would not.

She did.

I must confess myself alarmed at her ease with telling such lies. **To her mother** To other authority figures, I can understand the need or desire to deceive, but I am her Watcher. This breach in respect shall not be forgotten . . . but I have chosen to forgive her this injury this time. Should I discover that she has continued to deceive me in the future, I shall have to have a serious conversation with her. **Other Slayers never lied to their Watchers**.

To return to the case at hand, Buffy began her search of insects and alighted on one—the _Mantodea—_ or Praying Mantis. This sounded familiar to me, and I recalled an old friend with whom I knew at Oxford. Doctor Ferris Carlyle. He always had some fascinating insights to common—and rare—fairy tales and how they tied into the insect world. I called the asylum that dear Carlyle was being kept. Yes, sometime in the mid-eighties, he went a little mad and was carted off to the nearest Bedlam. Despite his tendencies to start howling obscenities and that worms were eating his brain, his intelligence has remained keen and sharp over the years. I was pleased to note that he still recalled this She-Mantis, with whom he had attempted to do battle with himself.

Armed with knowledge, Buffy insisted that I also make a recording of bat sonar. It is because of this bat sonar that I currently am pressing a cool rag to my forehead as I write these words. I'm not sure if anyone reading these pages have ever spent fifteen minutes listening to the shrill call of _Microchiroptera,_ but I do not recommend it. Not unless you are fond of the feeling of blood and brain tissue leaking from one's nose and ears, of course.

All the same, I recorded the desired sounds from the video part of the library. **I was not aware such a section existed.** Buffy directed me to where I might find such sounds, and we hunted down one Natalie French. I should take this time to remark on Buffy's intelligence. Once she had devoted herself to the research, she found exactly the creature she was looking for. Whilst Willow and I still floundered over where to even begin looking, she scoped in on instinct and knowledge and used both to bring the predator to light. In this regard, I am extremely proud of the Slayer.

I joined this battle **and pushed a button** and was an active participant. In a moment of desperation, I delivered the horrid bat sonar sounds which paralyzed the She-Mantis, allowing Buffy to "slice-and-dice" her way to victory. Oh, I realize I have failed to mention that Xander was the victim in all of this. He and another student had been the virgins chosen to fertilize the Mantis' eggs. **There's no account for taste** It is clear that the She-Mantis was primarily interested in the pure state of the males, and nothing else.

 **And it is of no surprise that Xander fell easily into Miss French's trap.**

Remember, dear reader, be wary of pretty faces.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	5. Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

Buffy is a particularly perplexing and strange girl.

Over the course of these past three nights, she has only confused me more and more. Her . . . personality, her desires and goals are so entirely different from the case studies I've read on previous Slayers, that I find myself completely unable to predetermine her courses of action. It all began when I decided to accompany the Slayer on one of her patrols and analyze her skills. I could observe where she was weakest and strongest, and then design a more regimented training procedure to her needs. Though she demonstrated extreme capability and skill, I did find her methods a bit . . . showy. Buffy seems to enjoy the fight, more so than the kill. Indeed, she even takes the time to taunt her prey with a few not-so-witty one-liners. And puns. God, the puns.

It was on this patrol that I happened to notice a ring on the vampire she had slayed. Though I did not immediately recognize the insignia, like any good Watcher, I deemed it necessary for further research. After consulting—and I suppose I should record that Buffy found the matching insignia before me—we discovered that the ring belonged to a cult known as the Order of Aurelius. To ward against confusion, Aurelius was a 12th century vampire noted for his prophecies, the most famous being on the Anointed One. This is not to be confused with Marcus Aurelius, the famous Stoic Roman Emperor, who by my studies, was just a mortal man.

This Anointed One was an unfortunate business. One that needed to be stopped before it grew roots. Despite Buffy's vociferous pleadings to be allowed to go on a date, I focused her and joined her on yet another patrol. According to the prophecy, five must die, and from the five, the Anointed One shall rise. At the time, there appeared to be no vampire activity at all, and so I allowed Buffy to run off on a night of tomfoolery. This tomfoolery was centered around Buffy's past—or at the point in which I am writing this—flame, Owen.

I met the student when he came to the library seeking an edition of Emily Dickinson's poems. Though I appreciate that he is working against the stereotype that American young men no longer read poetry . . . he could have picked a better poet. True, Dickinson has some fantastic literary works, but if Owen truly wanted to expand his mind, he should have asked for my opinion. In case anyone wants that opinion **Buffy certainly doesn't,** I would point them towards Keats and Lord Byron. "When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be" by Keats is particularly among my favorites. "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron is particularly interesting, as—according to a lecture by one of my instructors in the Watcher Academy—it is about a vampire who, quite obviously, enchanted Lord Byron. Whether he knew this vampire's true monstrosity is still up for debate.

To return to Owen, Buffy had been consistent in her, and I put this mildly, gushing about the boy. Why she didn't just use Willow for her ear on the subject of boys, I am uncertain. However, I learned all I could ever wish to know about him by Buffy's poetic descriptions. Frankly, I think she was merely attracted to his symmetrical features, and very little to do with his love for deeper subjects. All the same, Buffy's determined courting of this man utterly perplexed me. On all of the accounts of the Slayers that I have encountered, they have remained solitary. Never have I heard mention of a Slayer fawning over some pubescent boy. She is entirely too emotional and bases her attacks on them. This was primarily displayed when she believed Owen to be dead.

A bit of backtracking before then, however. I made the decision to investigate the funeral home after having read that five had died in a horrid van accident. To my calculations and instinct, the Anointed One would have been born from that wreckage. I was right. **Everyone should listen to me more.** Though I was trapped for a time, as I had gone to the Funeral Home alone, Buffy showed up eventually and lent a hand in the battle. I should mention that though I have never been particularly claustrophobic, spending nearly an hour within a morgue, hiding away in one of those body containment holes, was enough to nearly send me into a panic attack. Thankfully, I regained my senses quickly, and the search for the Anointed One began.

He found us. I was thrown **like a damned infant** rather easily against a wall, which knocked me out. What occurred after, I was informed by Willow and Xander. Which means there were many animated gestures and words I did not fully comprehend. From what I understand, the Anointed One nearly killed Owen, which sent Buffy into quite the rage, during which she terminated him. I came to around this time and found Buffy speaking with Owen. **Never mind that I also had been knocked out.**

Still, I think I can begin to dissect Buffy's techniques. She is singular. She surrounds herself with friends and allies, and these ties seem to . . . bolster her. Instead of weakening her, as I believed it would, she has found a way to let it strengthen her. More study still remains to be performed, of course, but I cannot help but notice her solidifying her ties to her friends, rather than pushing them away, as any Slayer before her has done. This places me in a rather uncomfortable position. Should I be encouraging her strengthening those connections? Or should I advise her to remain solitary? There are benefits to being the lone wolf . . . but there are benefits to working in a pack as well. My Watcher training tells me one thing, but my instinct leads me another. **I need another cup of tea for this.**

I wish to conclude this entry with a discussion I had with Buffy just an hour ago. She had broken things off with Owen, telling me that Owen had become Dangerman and would likely end up being killed that way. It was clear to me that she was feeling particularly vulnerable, so, as any Watcher, I attempted to focus her. I told her the story about my becoming a Watcher. Not the whole, of course, God forbid she ever learn that sad tale, but my entry into it. I remember it quite clearly. It had been shortly after I displayed a bit of powerful magic. My father ripped me from my toys and into his study and told me that I was to follow in the family's footsteps of becoming a Watcher. He was a Watcher, and my grandmother before him. There likely had been generations before that even, but I was uninterested. I wanted to return to my toys. I recall having set up a grand war, and I had been about to save the day with an air battle.

Those toys were sold off, and in their stead, books filled with nightmares even I had been too naïve to imagine up. Instead of my dreams of flying a fighter jet or tending to a fertile garden and selling at a busy market, they were replaced with nightmares of fangs and blood and suffering. I vaguely recall my Aunts being displeased with my father's decision to begin my education so early, but he knew better. **Of course he did.** And so began my new life. English, arithmetic, biology, chemistry by day . . . spell-casting, demonology, histories of Watchers, Slayers and Demons by night. Such was my life until . . .

Another time for that story. The point I had been trying to make to Buffy, and I sincerely hope she was able to grasp it, was that . . . we were alike. We _are_ alike. Neither of us would have chosen this profession, and both of us long for the normal traditions that everyone else take for granted. Yet, we are . . . who we are. She the Slayer, I the Watcher. And even if we haven't figured everything out, we're doing a rather splendid job of it. And that is something to be proud of, if I do say so myself.

After destroying the Anointed One, I think it's safe to say we're a right proper thorn in the Master's side now.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	6. The Pack

**Note to Self: Find some sort of medicinal herb to soothe bruising along the abdominal area.**

The day's in which Xander was possessed by a hyena spirit were . . . odd, to say the least. I was incredulous—and sore, after a session of training—when Buffy expressed that Xander was being odd. She believed him to be anything but a normal teenaged male finally receiving his overdoses of testosterone. I recall those times. It was similar to a power trip. One feels invincible and like a God on earth. Or perhaps my own form of testosterone was mixed with low-grade Narcissism. **And there's that pesky constant need to mate, too.** Hormones are running rampant, and the need to display one's strength is coupled with the need to show-off.

Since my own teenaged years are roped together with the years I'd prefer never to remember again, I shall simply focus on the events surrounding Xander's possession. It was at this time that Principal Flutie brought in a pig to the school to be used as its mascot. I'm not entirely sure he thought that through. Pigs are, for one, smelly. The cost of feeding and keeping them healthy is quite the fund as well. Regardless, he was saved the fee, for the pig was eaten . . . alive. Principle Flutie, I am appalled to say, was also eaten alive. Perhaps because I'm morbid, I tried to imagine Flutie's last moments. Though the students who ate him are, indeed, possessed by hyenas, they are still in human form. Human teeth are not meant for carving meat from bone—though we do it, anyway—we are not strictly carnivorous. In fact, there have been some studies which suggest that humans were not intended to eat meat at all. And so it was that Principal Flutie most likely died an extremely painful and slow death. It's chilling . . . and **I've entirely lost my appetite.**

How did this all come about? Well, much to my chagrin, I had forgotten the lecture on animal possession. The Masai were particularly passionate followers of it. Calling themselves Primals, they believed that the animal state was holy, and through transpossession, they would draw the animal spirit into them. There are accounts of these sects performing the ritual and linking themselves to wolves. Indeed, a branch of Native Americans who had broken off from the Mohawk became Primals. They transpossessed themselves into wolves, bears, even mountain lions. Myth often confuses this transpossession with shape-shifting. There is a stark difference, however. Transpossession involves the internal—the soul. Shape-shifting is merely transforming one's physical body into something else. Granted, there may be other side-effects of shape-shifting, but one should mark the differences.

Buffy had managed to lock Xander away for his safe-keeping—and ours—and Willow was placed in charge of guarding him. The Slayer and I flocked to the zoo to speak with the zookeeper who had quarantined the hyenas. Though my perspective is a little colored now, I should have pressed the zookeeper how he knew so much about the Masai and Primals. It isn't as though they're exactly common knowledge, even for those associated with animals. Yet, his knowledge of such matters did not give me any warning bells, and we made a plan with him to return the hyena spirits back to their proper places. Naturally, Willow needed saving first. In true hyena fashion, the pack had come seeking their lost member.

Xander was not just any member, either. Through my few encounters with his possessed form, it was clear to me that Xander had acquired the Alpha spirit. The others needed him. It is a wee odd that Doctor Weirick, the zookeeper, chose hyenas to be the spirit he transpossesed with. Hyenas are exceptional in packs, but on their own, they are cowardly and weak. Unless he intended to find followers and possess them as well, I am not entirely sure that he thought his plan through. Indeed, he likely would have been rather disappointed in his decision. **A leopard or tiger is a much better decision for a solitary transpossession.**

Weirick's true intentions were not revealed until the very end. I found him in full Masai garb and realized that it was he who had intended to take the spirits in the first place. Before I could warn anyone—or even throw a punch—I was **sucker punched** struck to the stomach with a staff Weirick was carrying. Though the whack did little more than bruise my abdomen, it knocked the bloody wind right out of me. Unfortunately, this gave the pillock the opportunity to knock me out.

I awoke to the sound of growling and emerged to find the battle finished. Xander has returned to his normal state of un-funny jokes and wearying charm. Though, he has claimed that he doesn't recall anything from his time of possession. This strikes me as odd, as I haven't read anything about memory loss during possession.

. . . Perhaps I shall inform him of that.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	7. Angel

The Slayer is in love with a vampire.

If ever there was a star-crossed love, it would be this one. It was shortly after an attack by the Three that Buffy and her friends came to the library with this new information. Angel, is his name. For the longest time, I was uncertain of his intentions. He seemed eager to assist us in declining the vampire population in Sunnydale and even gave Buffy some sound advise from time-to-time. Yet, he is a vampire.

It is clear that the Master isn't too keen on our victories over him, as he called upon the legendary Three to destroy the Slayer. A trio of fierce warriors, the books tell us that they don themselves in armor and are entirely devoted to their cause and leader. **Nothing like a fanatic, hm?** Buffy has admitted that she likely would have been killed had Angel not stepped in and saved her. This alarms for two reasons. One, Buffy could have met her end two nights ago. It is clear to me that I need to devise a more rigorous training regime. Two, it makes Angel's intentions even more unclear.

From every account I have ever read on the species, vampires are ruthless demons. They kill and have a sincere enjoyment in killing. It's not just simple feeding time for them, it's a game. They are cruel and without conscience. Yet, according to Buffy, Angel has been given many opportunities to drain her and has refrained from doing so. Why? Is it true that he harbors some tender feelings towards Buffy? I would say that it is impossible for a vampire to feel love for another, but I lack enough evidence to support that claim. We simply do not know enough. The fact that Angel has not given us cause to suspect him as of yet could also be a longer-running ruse designed by the Master, himself. What if Angel has been working towards some nefarious goal the entire time? To earn the Slayer's trust, and when it suits the Master the most, dispose of her?

But if the Master has grown so frustrated with Buffy, and it is clear that level of frustration is rising; otherwise, he wouldn't have sent the three, then why hasn't he ordered Angel to strike? Unless, as stated before, Angel's feelings for Buffy are, in fact, sincere?

 **Remember to buy more bolts for the crossbow, fresh out.**

 **Train more with the quarterstaff, so Buffy doesn't wallop me so soundly next time.**

Angel's history also damns him. Called Angelus, he was turned into a vampire roughly over two hundred years ago. Apparently, he's Irish, though he neither looks nor retains any accent attributed to the island at all. Many Watchers have recorded over the years the slaughter and terror he wreaked across Europe and even China for years. I refrained from telling the others the details, but Angelus was fond of bloodshed. He certainly appears to be the cruelest vampire I have ever read about. He fascinates in playing with his victim before giving them a brutal killing. Yet, compared to his lifestyle now, the two are polar opposite. One would never guess that they are the same man.

So, what occurred then? Eighty years ago, Angelus traveled to America where he avoided vampires and more-or-less disappeared from the limelight. It's entirely unlikely that he woke up one day and felt remorse for his victims. It's against everything we know about vampires, this sudden growth of conscience. Yet, he killed Darla, the vampire who truly attacked Buffy's mother. More than that, Darla was, apparently, the woman who had sired Angel. To kill one's sire . . . Vampires may not spare humans much thought, but killing their own they find nearly unforgivable. They are . . . well, to put it clearly, they consider themselves the pure, superior race. Destroying such perfection caters towards heresy and damnation. Which is rather laughable, all things considered.

More thought and investigation are in order in regards to Angel. I am wary of his relationship with Buffy, and how it might affect her abilities as a Slayer. But I am also fascinated with this vampire who, by all intents and purposes, appears to be atoning. He could serve as a fascinating subject to write on, should I be given the opportunity.

There was another exciting development within this Angel-Darla-Buffy affair. Perhaps exciting is the incorrect word. Buffy's mother was attacked. Apparently, there was a grand scheme to make Buffy believe that Angel had attacked her mother, when in fact, it had been Darla. I received a call informing me about Buffy's mother's condition and rushed to the hospital . . . and there met the woman who had given birth to the Slayer. Joyce Summers, is her name.

There is a certain amount of reverence one should have when meeting the parents of the Slayer. They, knowingly or otherwise, were the ones chosen to put the one who would save the world countless times over into the world. Much like the Blessed Virgin Mary, I felt a brief sense of awe when meeting Joyce. My respect and admiration for her are endless. I was unaware only until recently that Buffy's parents divorced, and Ms. Summers was raising her all on her own. My mother died when I was very young, and so I understand the stress and exhaustion one maintains when being a single parent. My father was lucky enough to have his own mother aid in looking after me. Ms. Summers is all alone . . . and entirely unaware of the dangers her daughter is thrown into every night.

Among my first observations of the mother of the Slayer, I noted that she was optimistic, strong and contained that bite of humor I often see in her daughter. Remarkable. It is almost unfair that she should not know how blessed and important she is . . . but for her safety, it must continue to be so.

For now, I must return to my studies on the Histories of Vampires and determine if there has ever been a case like Angel before . . .

I hope Buffy knows what she's doing. Love blinds us all.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	8. I Robot, You Jane

To my extreme horror, the schoolboard has decreed that every book in the library shall also be electronically catalogued in the school's computers. I must be frank in saying that I **detest** loathe these abominations. They represent everything I stand against in modern society. And they were there! In my library! They brought them in, hooked them up as if they were some sort of Frankenstein's Monster, and then my books were subjected to manhandling. Each page was pierced by a bright light, its contents ravished and pillaged and displayed without respect for all to see on a headache-inducing screen.

Bloody hell.

It didn't help that my shipment of new books also coincided with the day of "data-entry" as they call it. Everything was disorganized, the indexes were entirely willy-nilly, and I didn't even get the chance to read them before the computer did! The outrage! If my place as the school librarian—and so close to Buffy—weren't so important, I would have resisted and picketed the system all together. The population doesn't need books on their computers. What's wrong with coming into their local library? Do we wish to alienate ourselves entirely? At this rate, we'll all lock ourselves away into caves, language shall be forgotten, and within the next century, we'll be nothing short of grunting cavemen once more. De-evolution. That is what this new computer society represents.

Anyway, I gave Miss Calendar my monologue on the matter, and I'm thoroughly knackered after such an event. Let me be succinct on the matter of Moloch the Corrupter. It was a practice in the Dark Age to bind demons into books. They'd be forever trapped within its pages, unable to do further harm to man. There was usually a disclaimer at the beginning that said something along the lines of, "do not read this book aloud, scary demon inside." It is of no surprise then that the reason Moloch was able to be released from his book, was because a computer was not intelligent enough NOT TO READ THE BOOK. I can already hear Miss Calendar's argument a mile away . . . **and so returns the headache.**

Upon scanning its pages, the computer "read" the inscription of the text, and Moloch was transferred into the Internet. Now, the Internet is another terrible entity of horror. For whatever reason, we have deemed it wise and prudent to entrust our most precious and personal information into this . . . this . . . thing! We put faith in this bodiless, soulless, consciences-less creature to safeguard us in our hospitals, in our national security, in our credit card safety, in our very traffic system! And then we cry "chaos!" when it goes awry. Call me old-fashioned, but I rather long for the days when a person was held responsible for this or that failing. At least then we could fix the sodding problem.

I digress. Moloch was in the Internet. He joined something called a Chat site, where persons can communicate with one another. Through a screen, I might add. Never mind eye-contact, or picking up tones or pitch in voice. Never mind the obviously easy chances for miscommunication when attempting to translate emotion through text. For whatever reason, Willow joined this Chat site where she met Malcolm. As one can guess, Malcolm was obviously Moloch. Let this be a warning for all those who talk to strangers on the Internet. Do not trust the person sitting on the other side of that screen. It is frightening to me how easy predators can now isolate and attack their targeted prey. A few sympathetic words, perhaps an affection term here or there, a fake or misrepresentative photo, and they have their target waiting for them at some coffeehouse or alley or park. Give me the standard face-to-face communication any day.

Speaking of face-to-face communication, conversing with Miss Calendar has proven to be both insightful and utterly irritating. In seeking to bind Moloch back into his book form, I asked for aid from the computer science teacher. To my utter surprise, she already knew there was a demon in the Internet. It turns out that Miss Calendar is more than just a teacher here at Sunnydale . . . she is also a technopagan. It is a recently new cult, founded around the birth of computer technology and science. As one can imagine, I am not terribly familiar with its tenets or purpose, but Miss Calendar has assured me that is similar to most pagan cults. Hers merely has an emphasis on education and technology. **I gathered that means she uses the computer a lot.**

Despite my inability to appreciate her "babies" as Miss Calendar called her computers, I was pleased to find that we worked quite well together. She is capable at what she does, I'll give her that. Together, we bound Moloch, though not in book form as I had hoped. Instead, he was trapped in the physical form he was currently residing in. Though still quite a force to reckon with, Buffy came through and added another demon's demise to her list.

 **Oh, hang on, I just found a corkscrew under the table. That can only belong to one person. I shall finish this when I return.**

* * *

Dear me.

Miss Calendar may have . . . no. Why would she? We're obviously polar opposites. She hadn't just been flirting with me.

She was flirting with me.

No, she most certainly was not.

Was she? Did I appreciate it?

 **Yes.**

God save me, I need some scotch.

 **Where does she dangle it?**


	9. The Puppet Show

A week has passed since my last entry, and for good reason. I had been assigned to a new horror: The Talent Show.

It has come to my attention that these "talent" shows are a time-old tradition in the American education system. I had never even heard of such torture before the newly instated Principal—Führer Snyder—conscripted me into running the talent show. I am still not entirely sure what the purpose behind these public displays of embarrassment is supposed to be, but I am eternally grateful that we did not have them in my day at secondary school.

Though, like any self-respecting Englishman, I enjoy the theatre so long as it is well-performed and in good taste, I cannot stand for gauche, inept theatre. It is akin to the pain of having one's teeth drilled. **Or staring at a computer screen for hours on end.** I was forced to sit through performance after awful performance. One would think that something so called as a "talent" show would involve some base level of talent. This entire experience has only served my increasing anxiety over the next generation's chances of success. In fact, the talent show was so talentless, that I am quite sure no one in the audience enjoyed a single performance. **Next year, Principal Snyder will have to provide alcohol if he desires an adult populace to attend.**

Besides being entirely buggered by coordinating Cordelia's horrid musical interpretation of an already horrid song, we had a demon prowling the talent show. Its first murder came in the form of one of the few-skilled performers, a dancer and track student, Emily. From her, it took her heart-with a knife, I feel compelled to add. It was because of its use of a man-made weapon instead of the usual fangs, claws, spikes, that stumped myself and the others on what exactly had killed Emily. My time was split between researching the plethora of demons who included hearts in their rituals, and arranging trophies, programs and timing the show.

I should pause and make mention of the new Principal, lest I forget. Principal Snyder is a bewildering man. He seems better suited for either juvenile school or simply the military, than at a public school. His methods are disconcerting, and his cynicism of children leaves me flummoxed as to why he chose this vocation in the first place. Most importantly, he seems fixated on Buffy, Xander and Willow-Buffy in particular. While Principal Flutie may have chosen to ignore Buffy's disappearances and skiving of classes, she'll have to tread more carefully around Snyder. I have yet to make up my mind on how I feel about him . . . though currently, with this shock of talent show terror so fresh in my mind, I am leaning towards distaste.

 **If I never have to hear Cordelia sing again, it shall be too soon.**

 **Remember that she is obsessed with her hair for future interactions.**

Another participant in the talent show was a student named Morgan. Together with his dummy, Sid, he put on a comedic act. Morgan was acting rather suspiciously around the time of Emily's death, and so Buffy was sent to investigate him. Willow discovered an illuminating passage on evil spirits that could attach themselves to dolls, and with Buffy's purported account of Sid attempting to kill her whilst she slept, our attention turned to the wooden dummy itself. I have never been one to fear toys or inanimate objects. The chill some feel when coming close to a porcelain doll or a painted clown had been lost on me.

I now understand. When Xander lost Sid in the library, I felt a panicked need to be on higher ground. The thought of something so small sneaking up and doing irreparable damage to oneself is horrifying. Suffice it to say, I am never purchasing any form of doll in my life. Though we discovered later that Sid had actually been a demon-hunter cursed into the doll, it is only too clear to me that such objects should be treated with excellent care and awareness. Not that any doll can—at any moment—be possessed by this or that spirit, but considering that we live on a hellmouth, I am not taking any chances.

Eventually, I discovered a brotherhood of demons, seven members, who required a human heart and brain every seven years in order to retain their youthful human appearance. It was quite clear that this was the demon we were searching for. **And Sid told us so.**

Morgan, himself, was killed by the demon, his brains taken for the ritual the demon required. The others discovered that Morgan was suffering from a brain tumor, and so the demon had abandoned the brain. I, meanwhile, was helping a student, Marc, with one of his magic tricks before the show. I feel quite foolish now as I reflect on how blindly I walked right into his trap. Never did I pause and wonder if putting my head under a guillotine was a poor decision. Bloody natural selection right there. Once I realized that I had been thoroughly duped, my panic was quite severe. **That I did not squeal like a little girl only attributes to my reserved, stiff-upper-lip English masculinity.**

Whilst my life flashed before my eyes, and indeed I did relive a few past events I deeply regret, Buffy, Willow and Xander came to my rescue. They broke me free out of the dreaded machine, and I watched Buffy dispatch the demon, which had lost its human form. Sid rendered the final blow, and the curse which locked him into the dummy was broken. Though we only knew Sid for a brief time, his crass humor and devotion to his work—ridding the world of demons—made an impression upon us all. I shall be writing to the Watcher's Council tomorrow to ensure that they add a 'Sid'—further research as to his last name must be conducted—to the histories of demon-slaying. He shall be remembered.

I wish to end this entry with an account of my "beloved" trio and the performance they were forced to give. They chose to perform an act from Oedipus Rex, written by Sophocles. Let me simply say that not only Sophocles, but all of ancient Greece were rolling in their graves by their shoddy performance. Indeed, it could have almost been a comedy, if their discomfort wasn't so obvious. Poor Willow even eventually fled the stage. Xander forgot his lines, and Buffy . . . well . . . Buffy certainly made the play more modern with her addition of apathetic teen-mom. Afterwards, they were all attempting to burn that moment from their memories. They ran off to the Bronze whilst I remained here in my library to recount the events.

They'll likely hope I forget that it ever happened along with them.

I wish I had recorded it.

-Rupert Giles

1996


	10. Nightmares

I think if this week's events can be described as anything, I would use the word: illuminating.

Before the gang realized something supernatural was occurring, I was experiencing quite a few odd events. It began small. My favorite tweed vest no longer fit, though it had just a few days prior. I ran out of my favorite tea—Earl Gray, for the record, which in itself is cause for real alarm. There are few means I have that keep me calm and relaxed throughout the hectic high school day. As I am not always allowed to shirk my duties and read, tea is my very last—and most dependable—security blanket. Thus, I was forced to drink—I shudder to even write it—American coffee. All day. The jitters were unbearable.

From there, the real trouble began. I was in the stock room, organizing and filing and making an inventory of new arrivals that still needed to be added to the index for the library card catalog. **Inform Principal Snyder to remove the Teen Romance aisle for more stimulating novels.** I needed to return to my office for another pen . . . when the most peculiar thing happened. Though the stock room is, in truth, just a few aisles inside a larger room, I found myself getting turned around. It should have been impossible, practically speaking. I had followed the wall, and it should have taken me right to the door, yet it did not. Instead, I found myself walking in aisle after aisle. I thought I was hallucinating or having some sort of nervous breakdown, but when I heard someone calling my name, it was as if the hallucination shattered, and I jogged right out of the door to find Buffy and the others waiting.

As I wasn't entirely sure what had just occurred, and I was rather embarrassed that I had gotten lost in my own stockroom, I made no real mention of the boggling venture and was resolute to push it to the back of my mind. Instead, the gang informed me of a student who opened his book and inadvertently unleashed hundreds of spiders into the classroom. As the number was quite astonishing, there seemed something not quite normal about it. I began my research, though with no clear direction in mind. My research did not last long, as there was an attack in the school's basement. A student named Laura was severely beaten and taken to hospital.

Buffy and I decided to see if she could tell us anything of her attacker. Our visit proved fruitful, and we learned that the attacker had said something about lucky number nineteen before he had attacked Laura. We also discovered a boy who had been beaten into a coma by the same attacker. Shortly after our return to Sunnydale High, another personal incident occurred. Whilst attempting to scan the local headlines, I was unable to read at all. All text was rendered as . . . nothing but symbols to me. I knew what the letters were supposed to be, but my mind projected them as some form I did not recognize. The fear was paralyzing. Reading is not just my job, but a great pleasure to me. It has been my longest companion—the written word. To have it ripped from me—and I believed at the time that I was beginning to go mad, that it was my own mind failing me—it was brutal. I felt purpose and joy had been taken from me, like innocence stolen from a child. It was a reeling experience.

Which is why when we discovered that the boy in the coma, Billy Palmer, was the one responsible for all that we were seeing, I felt a great sense of relief. I wasn't losing my mind. Somehow, perhaps through a unique psychic link brought about by the trauma he experienced, he integrated the nightmare dimension into our reality. Our nightmares, both laughable and terrifying, were coming to life. I was not the only one affected. Xander, apparently, had shown up to class without clothes, save his pants. **Thank god for that.** As the nightmares became worse, I stumbled upon another one of Xander's nightmares, which involved a rather irritating clown and a large knife.

My last nightmare was the most . . . horrific. It's one that haunts any Watcher, but seeing it before my living eyes . . . I think I only realize now how much Buffy means to me. She's more than just a Slayer. She's a girl with her own dreams and desires. Underneath all of her super human strength and feline reflexes, she is just _human._ A remarkable girl stuck in an endless fight against the darkest of evils. Doomed to fight and fight and fight until one day her strength isn't enough, and she is killed. Such is the fate of all Slayers. I have been taught this most of my life. I even accepted it. But these past few months with Buffy, all that we've been through, and all that I've seen her overcome . . . her fate isn't something I can accept any longer.

From now on, I am going to train her harder. I want to ensure that she is prepared for anything. For the Master, for the end of the world . . . anything. I won't fail in my duty to her. That tombstone bearing her name shall never come to pass.

Buffy's nightmare was even more surprising. I suppose I never put much thought into what Buffy fears the most, **and I feel terrible writing that** but it was revealed to me. Vampirism. Buffy had been turned into the very thing she hunts. The shame I saw in her eyes . . . the fear when she realized what she had become. It was heartbreaking.

Thankfully, it all ended when Billy defeated the attacker, revealing that it had been his baseball coach. The brute is now, thankfully, being sent behind bars. The nightmares vanished, and we now find ourselves back in our mundane—as mundane as it can be on a hellmouth—lives. I intend to keep in touch with Billy. I wish to know if this psychic link has disappeared, or if it remains with him still. If it has, he could prove to be a fascinating study. If not, well . . . at least he shall have a normal life. **Tedious.**

At least it's Friday. I can reflect over my deepest, darkest fears over a bottle of scotch and recover tomorrow morning. Sounds like a romp. Buffy is headed to LA, I believe, with her father for the weekend. I met him briefly as well. The father of the Slayer . . . Unlike her mother, I found him . . . **lacking** unimpressionable.

Ah well. Fathers usually are.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	11. Out of Mind, Out of Sight

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I've received quite a number of inspiring reviews, so I wanted to give out a few shout-outs in a more public forum. Mysteryfan28, The Eclectic Bookworm, icecold1039, a warm thank-you to all for the reviews. I hope I continue to prove myself worthy of your attention. To sweet-angel-sc who favorited, thank-you! And to those who favorited and followed, Aaerial15, Jensine7, chrissyjoy and marcella369, thank-you! You're a fantastic bunch.

* * *

The case I wish to discuss in this entry remains me of the classic horror novella, _The Invisible Man,_ written by H. G. Wells. Though the only correlation between that plot and what occurred in Sunnydale is simply the invisibility itself. For one, it was a girl named Marcie who became invisible. Secondly, though science explains how her invisibility came to be, it is not through some fantastic chemistry as it was in the novella.

Marcie was a student constantly ignored and overlooked by the entire population of Sunnydale High—quite possibly by her family as well, though I have no knowledge of Marcie's life at home. Though her story is rather tragic, it is also serves as a cautionary tale—and perhaps a moral one as well. It was not by choice that Marcie became invisible. Despite her attempts to be seen by her peers and authority figures, she was only ever treated as one in the background. I certainly never recall having met a Marcie before, but perhaps I also failed in taking the time to pause and look in someone's eye and . . . s _ee_ them. How many Marcie's out there? Countless, likely. The ones who are unheard, though they try so very hard to make themselves so. It is our failing that they are silenced.

I enjoy thinking that I give all who enter my library special attention . . . but I know that's a downright lie. There are some students who I simply cannot stand. **The ignorant.** There are also occasions where I lose myself in my own head during a conversation. It occurs even when I'm speaking with Buffy. Though I do find myself—and my thoughts—fascinating, this incidence with Marcie has enlightened me. What if Buffy or Willow began to feel invisible due to my lack of attention? The feeling itself renders one susceptible to the deceptive thinking that one is valueless . . . worthless. These students are already suffering from the usual self-esteem issues that couple with puberty and self-awareness.

Should anyone who discovers this disjointed and preachy journal find themselves thinking such thoughts of purposelessness or are simply lonely . . . allow me to argue that you are all alive for a reason. True, it may not be to slay vampires, but if this world has shown me anything, it is that there is evil everywhere. It is endless and it comes in many forms. You are a warrior made to combat that evil. Your purpose is to be kind and to love. Only such actions will destroy the evil. By doing so, you're all Slayers in your own right. And that makes me proud of you.

There ends our moralistic sermon for the day. Grandmother Edna would be proud.

To return to the invisible girl, Marcie had festered over slights that she conceived were from Cordelia, based on the fact that Cordelia effortlessly attracted attention where Marcie did not. **Though how anyone can stand to listen to Cordelia for a period longer than seven minutes—I timed myself—I can only chalk up to deafness or coma.** She conceived a plan to kill—or maim—Cordelia at the May Queen coronation held at the Bronze, a local **smelly** nightclub that students frequent. Why the coronation and celebration was occurring there, when it was a school function, I am not sure. Are we promoting the night life? One would think Principal Hitler would have put a stop to that.

Though Buffy, to my delight, used her training to outsmart Marcie, it was ultimately a group of suits who apprehended Marcie and carted her off . . . somewhere. The choice of clothing leads me to believe that they are associated with the government, but since the Watcher's Council has no knowledge of this, I am at a loss as to ascertain their motives. I can only hope that Marcie is truly on a path to recovery.

My life was at great peril during this hunt of Marcie as well. Willow, Xander and myself heard flute music playing, and as Marcie played the flute in the band, we believed it might be her. I had the hopeful thought that we might be able to reason with her, and so we pursued . . . right into a boiler room. It was a trap. The door closed, and the room began to fill with gas. Though I attempted to turn the gas off, the knob was either jammed or I was too weak to turn it. **It was probably jammed.** Fearing us goners, at the last moment, the doors opened and who should appear? . . . but Angel.

Angel had come to me earlier to discuss the Master. Though I have seen Angel in action before, this was my first experience in speaking with him face-to-face and alone. One of the strictest tenets we learn at the Watcher Academy is to hate the vampire, to distrust the vampire. That he or she is a being of true evil incapable of moral thought or deed. They are demons and seek to corrupt and destroy. Yet, before me in the shape of this young man, I found someone who so completely went against everything my textbooks told me that I felt completely out of my element. I think I might have babbled. Embarrassing.

Regardless, Angel proposed that he might find the Pergamum Codex and give it to me. The Codex is said to be the most complete text of Slayer prophecies. Obtaining it and gleaning information from it, could prove to be vital in the eventual fight against the Master. One does wonder where the Codex might have been "misplaced" as Angel described it. Had he misplaced it? That it has been missing for centuries speaks to his skill, if he was the one who hid it away. Wherever it was, he obtained it, and the Codex is now in my possession. That I have not written to my associates at the Council to rub it in their noses speaks volumes of my humility.

Briefly, I discussed with Angel about his affection for Buffy as well. I've lived long enough to recognize the light in a man's eyes when he speaks of someone dear to him. The vampire and the Slayer. It reminds me of a poem by Yeats, " _The Sorrow of Love."_ A line in particular stands out, "Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships. And proud as Priam murdered with his peers." It's a doomed love. Angel knows it. But does Buffy?

Oh, and I was educated on the true meaning of "Have a Nice Summer" when written in a yearbook as well.

 **Note: Do not write "Have a Nice Summer" on Miss Calendar's yearbook. Something witty instead. Or a poem. A quote? Bugger.**


	12. Prophecy Girl

I don't have much time.

It almost seems pointless to write this now, but if I don't focus my thoughts in some manner, I fear I'll have some sort of panic attack. I can't afford that at the moment. Buffy is in severe trouble. According to the Codex, Buffy will die when she faces the Master. The Codex has never prophesized something that has not come to pass. I've translated over and over, hoping that might I discover some sort of loop or clause that suggests a way Buffy might escape this fate . . . . and I can't find anything. For all my books, there is nothing that gives even a hint as to stop it.

She knows. I tried to keep it from her, wanting to protect her until I knew more or had found a way to bypass it. Yet, she overheard me speaking with Angel about the prophecy. God, the look on her face. I saw a child die in that moment. I've seen death before, more times than I would have liked, but nothing like this. It wasn't a physical death. No, it was something worse. The brightness of innocence had been murdered in her eyes by my careless words. A terrible transformation occurred right before me. The child was put to the grave, and a woman emerged in her place. I broke a piece of her soul.

In her despair and anger at the fate looming over her, Buffy said a few honest, if not hurtful, things. All I do is sit and read and train. I'm not there on the frontlines with her, not usually. I simply pack a little care package for her and send her on her way with a pat on the head. I know of the horrors she faces, but I am not there seeing them with her. The Slayer is supposed to be a soldier, the tool that the Council controls to fight the forces of darkness. But Buffy is so much more than just a soldier. How can I send her to her death? If she is a soldier, than I am her General. My duty tells me I give the order and prepare the way for the next Slayer. I can't perform my duty. I never thought I'd be a very good Watcher . . . Tonight, I'll prove it.

Miss Calendar is with me as I write these words. They'll likely be my last. She was contacting some of her fellow technopagans and the like about portents she had been receiving. End of the world portents. Everything is pointing to tonight. Tonight is the end of the world, should we fail to stop the Master. It is written that the Master shall kill the Slayer, and then so shall open the hellmouth. Once the hellmouth is open, demons and all manner of evil shall be unleashed unto this world. We'll be slaughtered. Miss Calendar also made mention of the Anointed One. According to prophecy, the Anointed One shall lead the Slayer to the Master . . . and her awaiting fate. If this is true, then we did not kill the Anointed One as we thought we had. God, that seems like years ago.

None of this shall come to pass. If I can disrupt the prophecy, it will change, and Buffy might yet live. I am not the first Watcher to sacrifice himself for his Slayer. I hope I am not the last. Some may claim that I am not performing my duty, but I argue that I am. A Watcher must protect his Slayer, to equip her with all she needs in order to do combat. I am equipping her with the only weapon I can give in the face of this battle—a chance. Without my meddling, the prophecy shall remain as is, and she will die. Bloody should have written a Will.

Well, no time like the present. I, Rupert Edmund Giles, hereby constitute these pages as my legal Will and Testament, to be enacted at my death. My estate in England is to be given to my Great-Aunts, Lavinia and Sophronia Fairweather. To Alexander Harris, I give my car—good luck. To Willow Rosenberg, I give my most treasured occult books—you'll find them under my bed. To Buffy Summers, I give the book entitled Vampyr—I hope it serves you better than I. Any capital claimed in my name is to be distributed equally among Alexander Harris, Willow Rosenberg and Buffy Summers—use it wisely, please. I write these words of my own free will and consider them to be legally-binding.

-Rupert Edmund Giles

There. A bit scant on the details, but they can figure out the rest. For now, I have to prepare to go into battle. I'm bringing along a crossbow . . . perhaps a sword. I've always been better at fencing than long-range weapons. I'm rather afraid. Death is so certain. But if my death pays for Buffy's life, then so be it. She is all that matters. To this world . . . and to me. I've wasted too much time, I need to he—

* * *

We did it. By God, somehow we actually pulled it off! I apologize for the poor penmanship, I am beside myself. The pounding in my head is also entirely throwing me off, and I'm not sure if it's from the loud noise called music I was forced to listen to at the Bronze, or from Buffy's fist. Looking back on my entry, it's clear I need to recount what occurred from where I was interrupted. Buffy came into the library where I was preparing to leave and hunt the Master. She was adamant about facing himself, even denying my direct order to remain with Miss Calendar. So, in true Buffy fashion, she socked me right in the jaw. I've a lovely welt there to contest her strength. Though, I suppose I ought to thank her for restraining herself a little so as not to break my jaw completely.

The punch knocked me out thoroughly, and I awoke to find Willow, Xander and Miss Calendar in attendance. Though Xander eventually left to aid Buffy in her fight, the three of us who remained tried to figure out exactly where the hellmouth was located, so we might attempt to put a stop to it opening ourselves. In line with how my luck was going, the hellmouth just so happens to be right under my feet—the library. An army of vampires attacked us, and we barely held them off, though the true threat came from below.

The hellmouth is not just a location . . . it is also a creature. This creature broke my floor and attempted to—I assume eat—Willow. A real fight was on our hands at this point. I grabbed an ax and started having at it, landing quite a few successful blows. Indeed, I'm rather proud of myself for my heroism. It was clear, however, that I was only ever injuring it, not actually killing it. If Buffy had not killed the Master, it is likely that the monster would have eventually overcame and devoured us all.

Yes, the Master is dead. The vampires have fled, now that they are leaderless. Buffy, and my awe cannot be expressed accurately through simple text, has succeeded. I learned that the Master had, indeed, killed her. Xander resuscitated her, and she was immune to the thrall the Master attempted to put her under. It's sobering to think that Buffy had actually died. That whilst I fought—or researched, I'm not quite sure what I was doing at the time—Buffy was somewhere lifeless. Had it hurt? Was it quick? I hope so. She seemed a little withdrawn whilst we celebrated our victory, but otherwise like her usual self.

Speaking of celebration, the group decided we ought to celebrate at the Bronze, as there was a dance occurring there, anyway. I was adamant that I would not dance. I'm afraid I'm not all too familiar with the steps in modern dances. Apparently, there aren't any steps at all. Just a bunch of hip gyrations and . . . well . . . honestly, it looked like a form of clothed mating. Unless one danced alone, in which case it resembled something akin to arm-flailing and The Twist. I was content just drinking a surprisingly strong—for the location—scotch, but Miss Calendar had devised other plans.

I danced. It took a few glasses, of course, but eventually Miss Calendar's badgering paid out, and I joined everyone in some sort of odd . . . circle . . . dance. Honestly, the whole thing was tribal, and it was so silly, that I couldn't help but enjoy myself. Or perhaps that was just my being sloshed. Likely the latter. I attempted to instruct Willow on how to waltz, but as evidenced by my bruised toes, she still has some way to go. All the same, it has been a long while since I've enjoyed myself like that. It's been years.

But I must put my thoughts towards tomorrow. It's nearly summer, and with school ending, Buffy announced that she is to spend the summer with her father in LA. As it is unlikely that the vampires shall regroup any time quickly, I approved of her decision. If anyone has earned a vacation, it is her. I hope her father cherishes his time with her. After tonight, I know I certainly do. He ought to be proud of her.

I know I am.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	13. Summer '97

It's been a few months since my last entry.

Frankly, there hasn't been much to report. The summer is nearly over—tomorrow marks the beginning of a new school year—and with its ending, I suppose I can easily describe how my summer was. Mundane. My theory that vampire attacks would decrease with the Master vanquished proved to be true. Even with Buffy in LA, they have either left Sunnydale or are in hiding. Since Xander and Willow stayed in town during the summer, the three of us rotated shifts in patrolling. I gave them some training before sending them off, of course. Though they've both proven themselves to be capable warriors, without Buffy here to back them up, I wanted to ensure their safety. They've done well. Between the two of them, they've vanquished a little under two dozen vampires. Even I staked my share. It seems we've become quite a force.

Yet, besides that, my summer has been dull. I've occupied myself by procuring more books on the Occult and devising new training procedures to put Buffy through once she returns. I am eager to see her and assess how she is. I imagine she'll need a bit of time re-adjusting into Slayer life after an extended vacation of what I imagine was tanning, shopping and sleeping. A few sessions, and she'll be whipped back into shape, however. We never know when the next great evil may take up shop in Sunnydale. Though the Master is gone, and the hellmouth is closed, this location still retains its mystical energy, drawing the dark forces ever closer to it.

Speaking of Buffy, I have not received word or letter from her whilst she's been in LA. Willow said that she has spoken with Buffy a tad, but by and large, she has been entirely swallowed by her time with her father. Not that she needs to speak with me, of course, but a phone call now and then to check in would have been nice. I suppose she has her father for that. She doesn't need me in that regard.

I did go to this fascinating estate sale run by a warlock in Crescent City. There I purchased a few bits and bobs that caught my interest. He had a covetous book collection as well. Another gentleman was interested in them, and it nearly came to blows between the two of us, but the warlock appeased the other gentleman with another item, thus allowing me to purchase them.

With the upcoming school session, I shall record anything of note. Though, after the Master, I can't imagine a foe to give us much cause for alarm.

No, I'm sure this will be a quiet school year.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	14. When She Was Bad

I would like to renege on my earlier statement about having an uneventful school year. The Master was nearly returned to life.

It seemed that as soon as Buffy returned to Sunnydale, mischief began anew. Was it coincidence? I'm not entirely sure such a thing exists in the world the Slayer lives in. Not when her life is so entwined with destiny and fate. More about Buffy later.

I arrived at Sunnydale High on the first day with rejuvenated energy. I'd spent the summer relaxing and acquiring new books, and I was eager to return to my librarian duties. Before I could reach my little hovel of safety, Principal Snyder headed me off and insisted on talking to me. I say talking quite literally, as it is extremely rare that he takes the part of "listener" in normal communication. So, I listened and let him drone on about his favorite subject: Teenagers. Though I, myself, sometimes prefer that **everyone** teenagers kept their distance from me, Snyder's distaste for them is deeply rooted and obvious. How a man so disgusted by the age group ever decided that governing them and having direct contact with them was an excellent career choice . . .

I was, thankfully, rescued from Principal Stalin by Miss Calendar. How to describe seeing her for the first time since school ended? She looked . . . incredible, and I don't use the word lightly. Incredible comes from the Latin, _incredibilis,_ which means "not" and " _credibilis"_ not credible. Which is precisely what Miss Calendar appeared to me as. She was not credible. It is impossible to believe that someone so beautiful and intriguing could even spare me a hullo. **Good lord, I'm not a poet.** **Perhaps it's not all bad that I wrote "Have a Nice Summer" in her yearbook. But perhaps that's why she didn't respond to my letter. Bloody fool, Giles!** Or maybe it's because she was at Burning Man . . .

Miss Calendar went to Burning Man, in which there were naked mud dances. I'm sure there were other things there as well, but I can't seem to recall what she said. **Surely, she didn't . . .**

Before this entry begins to sound like the ravings of a randy schoolboy, let us move on to the curious state of Buffy Summers. When I first encountered Buffy after she returned from LA, she appeared quite normal. A little withdrawn, perhaps, but eager to continue her training. My alarm was conceived during her training session. Though it was obvious Buffy had retained her sharp awareness and fighting skills, she was almost . . . too exuberant and enthusiastic in her training. She knocked me right off of my feet and split a dummy in half. **Those don't come cheap, I'll have to speak with her about that later.**

Rarely have I ever seen Buffy express terror, but in that session, I saw her nearly palpitating with fear. She assured me she was fine and went on her merry way. Knowing what I know now, I wish I had insisted on her staying and speaking with me. Though I am no expert in all things social and the teenager—particularly female—psyche, I am told that talking about issues can help a person release. I need to make myself more approachable in this matter. I may be her Watcher, but I want to do more for her than simply telling her when to punch, duck and run. I had been about to sacrifice my life for her. That I care for her should be obvious. But, again, I'm not exactly the most forthcoming of blokes, and she has her own father she can turn to for help.

Her odd behavior was witnessed by Xander and Willow as well. Though they did not go into extreme details, I gathered that Buffy had performed some sort of swanky dance with Xander— **an image I have been trying to burn from my mind since—** and had bullied Angel. Buffy was, essentially, trying to push everyone away. I've seen this sort of behavior before in the Academy when Watchers in Training have needed to isolate themselves in order to build their walls defensively. It usually occurs after a traumatic event—and what is more traumatic than dying? I alighted that this was the cause for Buffy's behavior. She was traumatized by her death—short, though it was—at the Master's hands. All teenagers feel that they are invincible, and such a wake-up call can jar them. In Buffy's case, she likely felt that a part of her soul had been raped or corrupted by the Master's influence. He had killed her, severed soul from body, and that sort of touch leaves a mark.

Damn. I was a fool to have just let Buffy leave for LA after that incident. That sort of wound has festered and corrupted for months. It's no wonder she was so out-of-reach. She didn't know who she was anymore. That and she realized how lucky we have all been to escape death for so long. It likely was a reason in driving her away from us when the vampires laid out a well-conceived trap.

Though I had properly put the Master's bones to rest, we wore robes and everything, his followers—led by the Anointed One—dug up his bones and attempted to conduct a revivification ritual. It's a complex ritual in theory, but quite easy in practice, it now appears. One collects the bones of the deceased, and then the blood of those who were physically nearest the person—or monster—when they died. Naturally, this meant that myself, Miss Calendar, Willow and Cordelia had been captured and were about to be bled when Buffy, Angel and Xander came to our rescue.

 **Miss Calendar is never going to agree to a night out with me at this rate. Her life keeps being threatened whenever she's with me.**

Buffy destroyed the vampire leading the ritual, and then smashed the Master's bones. **Note to future self: Always smash the bones.** It was cathartic for her, I could tell. Everyone could. She exerted control, received some form of vengeance and affirmed her value and place in the world. I spoke briefly to her just before class started today, and she expressed concern over her friends. She doesn't seem sure that they'll be able to forgive how she treated them the past couple of days. This is the Buffy I know. The Slayer who is as strong as her relationships with her friends.

I'm no longer sure how this school year will treat all of us. The Anointed One seems adamant in enforcing his will and taking vengeance on Buffy. Snyder-ly Whiplash seems fixated on making the lives of my three students a living Hell. Despite this, as I am sure Buffy is now aware after seeing her friends, we will continue to have each other's backs.

We are, as Xander and Willow have put it, the Scooby Gang.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	15. Some Assembly Required

Jenny basically told me we're going on another date.

Other things occurred, some sort of Frankenstein's Bride affair, but Jenny—and she told me specifically to call her Jenny—was not put off by yet another life-threatening evening. Alright, we'll get to that later. I really ought to write on the dead bodies.

Buffy discovered an open grave on her patrol, and she was stuck by the evidence that suggested the body was dragged out of the grave. This immediately nulled the chances of it being a vampire. We had a grave robber on our hands. I confess I was a little overenthusiastic in my response to learning this piece of news, but when one is constantly battling vampires, a little diversity in one's enemies is refreshing. Not to mention a fresh mystery presented itself to me. What was the grave robber's motive? I narrowed it down to two possibilities.

On the one hand, it could have been a particular type of demon who ingests the body of the dead, which allows it to absorb the soul. The body must be fresh, however, and so I was unsure if this demon was our culprit. Even less so when it was discovered that the body belonged to a cheerleader who had died a few days prior. Though sort-of-fresh, really a demon of this sort attacks just after death.

The other option seemed more likely to me—a voodoo practitioner. Now, I must address the taboos associated with voodoo practitioners. Not all are cannibals. Indeed, I've met one who was strictly a vegetarian and appalled when I offered him my extra turkey sandwich for lunch. Much as we have seen with vampires, there are individuals within this class usually defined as evil. Some use their knowledge and mystical powers for evil, yes, but others are extraordinary healers. Indeed, I've read accounts of some practitioners who have been doing wonderful work in the remote regions in Africa, assisting the native tribes there. However, it was clear that this voodoo practitioner was the typical dastardly deeds sort of shaman.

My belief that we were thus dealing with someone building an army of zombies was further proven when we discovered two more girls had been pulled from their graves. However, when Cordelia arrived with knowledge that a bunch of bodies part had been disposed of in a dumpster- **what she was doing there, I haven't the foggiest, the girl is perplexing—** but not every part was there. It appeared as though someone had kept a few selected parts. So, we were dealing with neither a demon nor voodoo.

The general consensus was to search the lockers' of those bright individuals who participated in the science club. Because, obviously, it had to be a student. It couldn't ever be a teacher. **Or Principal.** Or someone who merely decided to dispose of their work somewhere that couldn't be traced back to them. No, it was a student. Well, sarcasm aside, it did end up being two students who were behind the body snatching. They were building the perfect woman out of body parts from dead girls. Morbid.

That the dead girl was being built for Chris' brother, Dylan—who had also been brought back to life—I'm not sure makes it any less morbid or disgusting. I'm in full support of love and love alike . . . but this was an abomination. It only lends support to that the dead should remain so. Even Daryl knew his proper place, as he chose to burn with the unfinished body of his . . . er . . . lover, than escape the flames that had engulfed the building that had served as Chris' laboratory.

Chris is now lined up for some therapy to treat his depression and self-esteem issues. His associate, Erik, is following, though I'm not sure it will have much effect for that one. Regardless, they're both going to be out of school for some time. I'd say that Cordelia needs a few sessions as well, but in true Cordelia fashion, she was up and fine as soon as she figured out a way to get the soot out of her cheerleading uniform. Never mind that her head had been about to be removed, nor that she had come face-to-face with an undead version of her past boyfriend. I'm not sure if I pity or envy her ability to merely shrug off traumatic events and continue on with her life.

But all of that aside, to the more exciting part. I had been working up my courage to ask Jenny out for some time now. Granted, I felt—and still do feel—entirely out of my element. After all, she is very much a modern American young woman, and I am very much an old-fashioned England gentleman. It used to be so much easier back in my Ripper days. I could just smirk and wink, and I'd have a bird on my arm in a second. Things were so much simpler then. Now I need to use . . . words. And it isn't as though I don't have words. I have many words. It's just the part where I have to actually speak them where the trouble begins.

I'd thought perhaps I should quote some poetry, but Jenny doesn't seem the type to have much patience for such things. So, then I went for a more direct approach. Unfortunately, Buffy and Xander overhead this particular attempt and offered other advise. They succeeded in only making me feel more ill-equipped. Even more so when Xander suggested giving me The Talk. As if I'm not aware that . . . and with Jenny . . .

At any rate, I managed to bump into her and stuttered my way through some sort of proposal. In true Jenny fashion, she beat me to it and got to the heart of the matter. And so it was that I suddenly had plans to watch American football with her that evening. Suffice it to say, I had practically been skipping all day. Except not. I do not skip. **There might have been a bit of a hop.**

American football. Jenny seems to enjoy the part, along with many other sports, and as does most of the population of America, it seems. Yet, I don't understand the appeal. Throughout history, we as humans, are drawn to violent sports. Of this, I do understand. But American Football is precisely the opposite of a violent sport. They wear helmets, they're entirely padded— **right down to their willy's—** and yet Americans insist that their football is rugged and aggressive and violent. Oh, sure, there's a rough tackle now and then, but then there's a great deal of hoobaloo about making sure the player is alright. If Americans really want a rugged, violent sport, than they ought to start playing rugby. Rugby League, I should add. I, myself, am a fan of football and rugby. Truly violent and aggressive sports. Now, first, where did rugby begin? Oh yes, England. Second, do they wear pads? Barely. We take our hits and injuries like real men. Third, we build towers of players to catch the ball. One doesn't see that anywhere else—save cheerleading. In short, rugby over American football any day.

Back to Jenny. We stopped off for some dinner before the game. We discussed how we found ourselves in the world of the Occult. She told me that her family has always been tied to it one way or another, and so the talk of magic and demons had always been prevalent in her life. It just so happened that she grew up during the surge of computers and electronics, and she found a niche to explore her own talents in technopaganism. It sounds as though her parents were quite the hippies. She was allowed a lot of freedom to explore and investigate. I envy her freewill. Jenny was one untouched by destiny. She forged her own path. I can't imagine her any other way, doing what she wants and discarding what she doesn't like or what doesn't fit her. She is utterly in control of herself and her future.

She's amusing to boot as well. She has a quick wit that often leaves me blushing and feeling hot under the collar. I've never been so flustered by a woman before. There is just something about her that renders me speechless . . . well, more speechless than normal. Which means it's a rather good thing that she can take charge of the conversation sometimes when I find myself lost in her presence. Apparently, we're going to have a second date. Hopefully, this one will not involve dead bodies or near-death experiences. Though this reminds me, I ought to research American dating rituals. I hear going to the movies is popular.

I like her. I like her a great deal. I really hope I don't bugger this up.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	16. School Hard

We have our new Master; his name is Spike.

His real name is William, affectionately called William the Bloody. According to my records, he was given the name to his preference in using railroad spikes to torture his victims. Bloody cheerful that. After speaking with Xander, I have also learned that Spike and Angel have known each other for some time. It is clear that they were one on friendly terms. Knowing what I do about Angel's life before he stopped killing, and Spike's history, I am not entirely surprised the two ran together. Spike has killed two Slayers in his lifetime. From my recollection, I do not recall another vampire ever having a larger count. Spike is to be taken seriously; perhaps, even more so than the Master had been. At least in regards to the Master, he was as much a follower of prophecy as those who followed him. Spike rebels against these traditions and rituals. He is entirely unpredictable.

This was proven earlier tonight at teacher-parent conferences held at the school. I was locked in the library with Jenny and Xander preparing weapons for the approaching Night of Saint Vigeous. For those unaware of such a dark holiday, the Night of Saint Vigeous is considered holy by the vampire world. Vigeous was a vampire who led an army on a crusade through much of the Middle East. They destroyed entire villages, leaving nothing behind. They only stopped when their gluttonous appetites had been filled, and they retreated into slumber. It is among the worst vampire attacks ever recorded in history. Much like the legend of King Arthur means much too many, so does the legend of Saint Vigeous to the vampire population. Every year on the night where Vigeous led his attack, the vampires gather and attack. Thankfully, there has always been a Slayer near the planned attack to put a stop to them. It's a tough fight; however, as the vampires undergo rituals beforehand to prepare themselves. They starve and self-flagellation.

As a history student, I must remark on the similarity between vampires and some members of the Catholic Church. Both participate in self-flagellation in an attempt to humble or discipline themselves before their chosen figure of worship. Though vampires use it as a means to agitate and infuriate their demon, it is still performed in a manner to express respect and inferiority to Vigeous. I merely find it ironic that vampires, who fear God and His places of worship, take a ritual directly from the Church they fear and use it in their own rituals.

Anyway, the Night of Saint Vigeous isn't occurring any longer, because Spike summoned up the vampire force and attacked early, ruining the ritual which grants vampires their extra strength and brutality. So, in that regard, he did us a small favor. **And now the armory is well-stocked with stakes.** The attack on the school was quite frightening though, and it would have been successful if Buffy wasn't capable of quick, strategic thought. I was holed up in the library with Jenny during most of the attack, having sent Xander to find Angel.

I would have enjoyed my time with Jenny had I not been so concerned over Buffy. It was quite the agitated and hungry army out there, and she was a one-man army. I did attempt to go out and lend aid, and Jenny expressed her concern, which was lovely, but Buffy sort of . . . dropped in . . . before I could even move the barricade against the door. She charged me with the safeguard of her mother.

Which, now that I think about it . . . I rather failed at. Yes, now that I reflect, I realize that Ms. Summers was not among those with us who escaped through the stacks. Blimey. Well, that was rather poor watching of me. Where did she go? I saw her speaking with Buffy in the aftermath, but . . . ah well, never mind. She was safe. Hopefully, Buffy will overlook my apparent inability to keep track of her mother. Those Summers women . . . never following instructions.

At any rate, Buffy defeated Spike, though he ran off before she could stake him. Which is a pity, as I am quite sure we haven't seen the last of him. He'll lick his wounds for a time, but we injured his pride—he'll return. There was a late night news report just on that I caught that spoke about the event at the school. Apparently, they're saying that a gang on PCP attacked the school. Well, whatever helps everyone sleep at night. It's likely better this way. There are some people in this world who simply cannot handle the knowledge that monsters are, indeed, in the closet.

I am also pleased to report that despite yet another evening full of terror and death, Jenny has remained steadfast at my side. I even expressed to her my understanding if she wished to avoid me. Her reply was simply taking my arm in hers. Sometimes body language is the most wonderful language in the world.

Except English.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	17. Inca Mummy Girl

Let's discuss museums.

After I finished my training at the Watcher Academy, I was sent to The British Museum to work as a curator until I was Called. As it was just as likely as the graduated Watcher working next to me could have been Called, I buried myself in my work. I quite enjoyed being a curator, short though my time was . . . compared to other curators, I mean. Since the Council owns The British Museum—and many other offices, both in London and worldwide—they can easily plant their students within its walls to continue study of history, as well as bring in a revenue for the Council. My specific duties were tailored to the caretaking of the Celtic exhibits. I didn't always find my work rewarding or particularly exciting, but there was an odd peace of cleaning or examining these old pieces and discovering new things about them not previously recorded. And everyone always loved shipment day from Cairo with our latest mummies.

Then I was Chosen out of the line-up of potential Watchers to travel to Sunnydale and take my position with the Slayer. The rest, as they say, is history—and recorded in these pages. Sadly, I've lost touch with those gentlemen and ladies I worked with at the museum. Perhaps I should give them a ring later. At any rate, museums sometimes carry artifacts of dangerous intent. Hapless archaeologists discover something, hand it over to a museum, and without realizing it, sometimes unleash curses placed centuries before to protect the artefact. The case of the Inca Mummy is not the first incident of a museum attraction gone awry. I point you to a copy of _Museum Mysteries: Death After the Afterlife_ for some exciting accounts of such incidents, written by a former colleague of mine.

As with most deadly artifacts, this one unleashed its curse due to a severe disturbance. A seal had broken, which had kept the Incan Mummy from returning to life. With the seal broke, the mummy rose and set about sucking the life out of her victims to maintain her own. For a time, this mummy was known to us by the name of Ampata. Originally, we believed she was Buffy's assigned exchanged student who was here to learn in America for a few weeks. **That I did not witness a single English student at this cultural exchange only speaks to our obvious misgivings about the American educational system.**

Disguised as Ampata, the mummy fell in love with Xander, and he with her. One assumes, anyway. Young love is often misleading. I recall my first love. I was fourteen and in secondary school. Father had been educating me on the occult at home, and so my time was limited. Yet, there was a girl in my Literature class who astounded me. She was beautiful, of course, and wicked smart. I think her father was some sort of poet, and the skill had obviously passed down in the gene pool. She was also a ballerina. Her grace was something quite holy to behold. Her name was Wendy. I think. Pretty sure. At any rate, I recall the feelings of infatuation and outlandish dreams of marriage and adventure. It's an innocent experience, the first love. It's uncorrupted by heartbreaks or burdened with the knowledge of what marriage entails. We assume that everything shall be perfect and work out well, because—at this point—we don't know any better. Why wouldn't it work out? When one felt this way? Surely, feeling this way is a sign that one is supposed to be with this person forever? My dreams of such happiness were ended just as quickly as Xander's were. Though mine came to a stop at my father's feet, not due to the girl being a mummy.

Dear lord, what a tangent! Once we discovered who Ampata truly was, I raced back to the museum to put the broken seal back together, as we deemed it would imprison the mummy once more. It was clear our speculation was correct, as I was attacked by Ampata right when I nearly had the bloody thing finished. She grabbed me, and I must have passed out at some point, for when I came to, I found myself locked in a tomb with Buffy. I do not suggest ever being locked in a small compartment with a Slayer. Though they can likely find a way out, there's a great deal of shoving and stepping-on in the process. I'm covered in bruises tonight not because of the mummy, but because a certain blond-haired Slayer refused to watch where her elbows were being jammed whilst she shoved at the tomb's cover.

Buffy kept Ampata from sucking the life out of Xander, which returned her to . . . well . . . dust. The story of Ampata is a particularly sad one. A girl of sixteen, she was an Incan Princess, destined to be the savior of her people. It sounds as though her people had struck a deal with some sort of demon to keep them safe, likely from white explorers encroaching on their territories. This demon, naturally, required his payment to be in blood—virgin blood. And so, Ampata was groomed and kept chaste and pure until her sixteenth birthday. On such a day, she took part in the rituals of her people and was killed to sate the demon and continue her people's safekeeping. It's tragic, really. It is likely that the Incan, intelligent and gifted though they were, did not realize that the being they had bargained with was evil. Indeed, much like many civilizations in that time, they likely attributed the demon to a God and worshipped him or her accordingly. That this particular group of Incans no longer exists, it is clear that the demon eventually grew tired of them and abandoned them to the conquistadors. Ampata's sacrifice was nothing. Truly, a waste of innocent life. I deplore it.

Oh, I suppose I should also record another discovery through this event. Perhaps I've just had my nose stuck in a book too long, as this news isn't news to anyone but me, but Willow carries romantic feelings towards Xander. Though I know the two have been friends for a long time, I was unaware that either were attracted to one another. I'm only aware now due to being privy to a conversation in which Willow was telling Buffy about moving on from Xander, instead of waiting for him to notice her. Perhaps it is due to this long relationship with Xander that prompts Willow to feel the way she does . . . because frankly, I don't understand the attraction. Willow is incredibly intelligent and gifted. Xander is . . . well, he has his moments of bravery and cleverness. But it stands that she could do much better. If Xander has not realized her promising attributes as a mate, then it is his, as they say, loss. I suppose time will tell if Willow seeks romantic fulfillment elsewhere or continues to pine for her childhood friend. One thing shall remain constant through that time though . . .

I will never understand teenagers.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	18. Reptile Boy

Buffy lied to me today, and frankly, I've had it coming.

There. I needed to write that, so I don't forget in the future. Despite the fronts being quiet in Sunnydale as of late, I insisted that Buffy keep up with her training. It's apparent that this has been doing more harm than good. Ever since her death, I've devised regiment after regiment of training procedures to put Buffy through. It's my job as her Watcher to make sure she is prepared for any enemy that may cross her path. If she fails, it is because I failed in properly preparing her. My failing will cost her her life. So, I've pushed and prodded and nudged her into constant vigilance, without realizing the strain I was putting on her.

It took her lying to me—and Willow's rather unexpected scolding—to get this through my thick skull. This lesson involved a fraternity party that Buffy snuck out to attend. In a rebellious need to exert her own control over herself, Buffy lied to me about her mother being ill and joined Cordelia in attending a party a local fraternity was hosting. Based on Willow's scolding, I've ascertained that Buffy was also upset with Angel for not being forthwith in his courting. **It wasn't just my fault.** It was by sheer luck that whilst Buffy attended this party, Willow and I were examining an inscription on a broken bracelet that Buffy had found earlier.

The bracelet eventually led us to the fraternity where Buffy and Cordelia had just about been sacrificed to a snake demon. Though Buffy ultimately killed the snake demon, without our distraction above drawing the fraternity brothers away, it is unlikely she would have been able to take on both demon and brothers. Though I told her that stating "let that be a lesson to you" was redundant, I feel no guilt or shame in writing it here. Let that be a lesson to you, Buffy.

And to me. In my fervent desire to keep her safe, I did not see how tired she looked. I see it now . . . the dark circles, the tight smiles, the exhausted pull at the corners of her eyes. I was working her to death. If she had failed, it likely would have been due to the exhaustive state I've been putting her through. So, I have decided to be a tad more lenient in my procedures. She deserves some time to feel normal, even if we both know the reality—that she is forever chained to her duty due to her destiny. It is clear to me that this normalcy aids more than hinders my Slayer. Which only lends further evidence to the fact that not all Slayers are the same. As a Watcher, we must be adaptable to our Slayer's needs. One method does not fit for all. Honestly, I'm not entirely upset that we've gone every other day without training. My poor arms are finally able to heal up from the pounding she gives them. **Bloody rubbish at melee.** Though, I feel it must be mentioned with much cheer and applause—I was not knocked out in this scuffle to save Buffy. Indeed other than a sore elbow—which I received from knocking out a brother of the fraternity—I am unscathed! I consider that a point for Giles.

In regards to the snake-demon, I've conducted a bit of post-battle research to learn more about him. His name is Machida, and he's a demon that—when worshipped properly—bestows prosperity on his followers. His payment is, of course, life. Once more, he prefers young females to feast upon. According to reports—as well as police findings—this worship of Machida has been going on for over fifty years. With a girl missing every year around the same time—that is to say the tenth day of the tenth month—I am thoroughly surprised that the police were unable to discover where the girls had disappeared to. **Inept Bobbies.**

Still, the news reports keep coming in on stock crashes and profits suddenly failing attributed to those who were former alumni of the fraternity in question. It would appear that karma has finally caught up to the rich. Considering that they truly gained their wealth by sacrificing young women to a demon, I say bravo. Though it does raise the question as to how many other chair members and CEOs currently at the top of the wealth bracket have gained their wealth in this manner? Who secretly keep a shrine in their basement or closet or linen room? Does Warren Buffet have some sort of prosperity demon hiding under the floorboards under his bed? It warrants questioning, at the very least.

There is something else that warrants questioning as well, and Willow was right to bring it up.

How _do_ vampires shave?

-Rupert Giles

1997


	19. Halloween

Dread has filled my gut, and I think it has found a home there for some time.

With that dramatic line, I shall attempt to explain. My dread has a name: Ethan Rayne. Somehow, of all the places, Rayne has found me here in Sunnydale. Whether this was his motive or not, I am unsure, but the fact remains that he now know where I reside. Ethan Rayne . . . my shadow . . . my nemesis. He was a friend once. A brother, even. There was a time where I could go to him and find comfort and support in his words and his ideas. The very thought repulses me now. There are some matters regarding Ethan and myself that I would prefer not to write here. Should Buffy ever decide to read these pages, I would prefer she never knew of my time with Ethan. I'd have her know me as I am now. Responsible, a stalwart soldier against the threat of evil.

But seeing Ethan again . . . It's brought back memories I thought I had repressed and buried years ago. All he had to say was "Ripper" and it was as if I had never left the crumbling, smoke-filled abandoned home we'd all been squatting in. I could recall the Rock n' Roll . . . the highs . . .

Enough about that. Ethan had found himself in Storybrooke and opened up a Halloween shop. Here in the **colonies** states, Halloween is celebrated profusely. Back in England, we observe the Holiday, of course, but our celebrations are primarily reserved until Guy Fawkes Day. Trick-or-treating, though slowly gaining ground, is still rather uncommon at home. This will be my second Halloween here, and I have to say . . . I rather like it. I haven't had the chance to celebrate it properly just yet, as I spend the free time researching, but perhaps next year, I'll do so. The thought of dressing up and pretending to be someone else for awhile is oddly appealing. As is candy. The after-sale of Halloween candy is fantastic.

This Halloween, as I said before, I spent researching and catching up on some necessary librarian duties. I'd fallen behind with indexing the new arrivals, and so I was determined to finish that up whilst everyone frolicked outside. This, of course, was interrupted by a Ghost-Willow. I say so quite in earnest. She walked right through a wall and gave me a right good scare. Indeed, I'm surprised I didn't suffer a heart attack. **Both from the initial shock, and what she was wearing.** She informed me of the chaos reigning outside.

I'm almost disappointed that I didn't the spell at work. Though terrible and deadly, I can't deny that seeing Buffy parading as an eighteenth century girl would have been most amusing. She is so . . . opposite of that kind of lady, the contrast would have likely rendered me into giggles. Xander was dressed as an American soldier, and thus became an American soldier. Apparently, the gun he was wielding became real as well. Xander with a gun is truly horrifying. One does wonder how the other costumes turned out. For example, I have seen a few Statue of Liberty costumes. If someone wearing such a costume became the costume in life, does that mean they would become a statue? Would the statue be living? Would it be actual size? And another—and I think rather odd—costume is that of a tree. Would the person then become a tree? Would they be able to move around like an Ent from _Lord of the Rings?_

Small and pointless questions, but curious nonetheless. Willow brought me to the costume shop where I encountered Ethan. After some . . . persuasion . . . he told me how to lift the spell. As he had been before we parted ways, Ethan was worshipping the Roman-mythical God of Chaos, Janus. Janus has showed his—its, really—ugly face throughout history. The God's followers are devote and passionate, though they often find themselves killed in the chaos they make. Ethan is playing with fire, as he always had. Though few know it, Janus has been associated with the Fall of Rome, the Black Death, the Great Famine in Ireland, and even the destruction of the dinosaurs—though I consider that quite a stretch, myself. Wherever there is mass chaos, Janus is very likely the cause of it, brought on by some foolish disciple.

I remain grateful that Ethan's magicks have always been . . . well . . . lesser. It requires great power to bring about a plague, for example. Though, if this Halloween is anything go by, Ethan has found a way to by-pass his ineptitude with misguided cleverness. Had he left Sunnydale after I destroyed the statue and ended the spell, I'd feel a bit more relaxed. But I stopped by the shop earlier this morning and found a note left behind. 'Be Seeing You' was written upon it. No, I fear this is hardly the last time I've seen Ethan Rayne. **I'm likely going to have to kill him.**

Either way, Halloween is over now. School resumes as normal, and everyone seems resolute to put the strange night behind them. God Bless the human compulsion to ignore the unexplainable. Though, I do intend to have it out with Jenny when I see her at lunch. I'm curious to know what her Halloween traditions are. If she dressed up, I wonder what as . . . and if she changed as well. Buffy informed me earlier that she said I was a "babe" and a "hunk of burning something or other." From my understanding, these are good adjectives to have.

But a hunk of burning . . . what?

-Rupert Giles

1997


	20. Lie to Me

Buffy had to kill a friend today.

Well, former friend, I think I should add. Billy Fordham was his name. I've only met him the once, but from what Buffy has told me, they were old friends. She even fancied him when she was a young girl. But Billy came to Sunnydale under false pretenses. Instead of transferring, as he claimed, his intentions ran far darker than that. Billy, or Ford, as Buffy commonly called him, was part of a club that romanticized vampires.

These clubs have become rapidly popular in the last decade. This is likely due to the recent turn in entertainment which has chosen to portray vampires as misunderstood, lonely fallen angels, rather than the soulless demons that they are. Though she is most certainly not all to blame, Anne Rice has likely headed this new surge of vampire clubs. Though her vampires can be violent, she writes them in a way that is sympathetic. Any isolated person can find comfort in a well-written book, and should they discover that vampires do actually exist . . . well, suffice it to say that fantasy always trumps reality. I find these clubs extremely alarming. Vampires are not to be worshipped, and despite the extremely rare example, they ought to be staked immediately. I wish there could be a more public warning system about the truths of vampires, but that rather goes entirely against the Secrecy Clause of the Occult world.

Though many in this vampire club that cropped up in Sunnydale were there based on silly notions, Ford wanted to be turned for quite a different reason. Buffy intimated to me that he had been diagnosed with Cancer. Brain Cancer, in fact, and he had only six months to live. Instead of making a bucket list like normal people, Ford chose to sacrifice both Buffy and a group of innocents in order to cheat death. If I hadn't made myself clear, I'm not particularly fond of the boy. I sympathize, because Buffy does and despite what he did, he was a friend once to her, but he put my Slayer in peril and showed no remorse for the potential slaughter of those who obviously need some sort of support system.

I was with Buffy when Ford rose. She staked him without a single thought. Perhaps it's callous of me to feel it, but I was relieved. I wasn't entirely sure if she'd be able to face someone close to her and end him or her. Of all the enemies Buffy has faced, they have always been separate. There has never been a personal connection. This was her first, and she performed admirably. With Ethan's arrival still fresh in my mind, it leads me to wonder if I'd so easily and quickly dispose of him if the time came to it. Perhaps I let him escape back in his Halloween store. Will my failure to act quickly hurt others in the future? I know Ethan . . . he won't stop his antics just because I gave him a bit of a beating. I must do as Buffy did and see him as he is—an enemy.

The experience did not leave without marking her in some way though. She expressed a desire to stop growing up. I understood her anxiety well. Even now, I long for the simplicity of childhood. Of running across the lawn with my fighter planes and imagining myself a hero in the Great War. There was no concern for betrayal or being hurt by those closest to me. Everything could be taken at face-value. Buffy is encroaching on the inevitable step of adulthood. I'm surprised with how much I wish to shelter her from it. She already has so much she must face . . . betrayal from believed-friends is the last thing she should be concerned with . . . but we are the human race. We are imperfect. We are ambitious and afraid. We are our own worst enemies.

Except for the slag of a vampire who stole my book. She is my worst enemy. If I ever find her, I'm going to give her a right good staking. Those books do not come cheap! And they're **mine** the Council's. I'm toying with the idea of sending Buffy out after her and bringing the book back . . . but I feel that would be a waste of resources and a silly threat to Buffy's life. But my book . . .

At least Jenny promised to make it up to me on our next date. She took me to some ghastly thing called Monster Trucks. I knew I was right in my decision to worry about her keeping the date a secret. She assured me that I'd be fine, and I'd enjoy it . . . and then she took me to Monster Trucks. It was loud, the audience was louder, and there were so many beer-bellies and popcorn-infested beards, that I realized I had walked into America's own deep-pocket hell dimension. I can only assume that Jenny enjoys it for the adrenaline rush one receives when a truck decides to rev or crush a million cars. Perhaps I should be alarmed that crushing something gets her going.

All the same, I think I successfully fooled her into thinking I enjoyed it. Maybe. But she did do that smirk thing . . . Perhaps not then. Regardless, that I sat through it all—up until Buffy beeped me—without losing my mind ought to testify my feelings for her.

I sat through Monster Trucks for her. Clearly, I am in love.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	21. The Dark Age

Something is happening. These nightmares are too vivid to be ignored.

What I thought was just a normal night of listening to Buffy's abhorrent work-out noise actually transpired into a nightmare all itself. I was called in to the morgue earlier today to check a body. I did not fully expect who I might see laying there, after all I only know so few people in Sunnydale intimately, but when they pulled back the sheet . . . Philip Henry lay there. He was far older than the last time I have seen him. He had a beard. God, I remember how hard Philip had tried to grow facial hair. Ethan and I constantly teased him about his inability to grow a beard or a simple mustache. Twenty years later, and there he was . . . dead.

Why Philip came to see me, I couldn't have imagined . . . at first. But his timing coupled with the nightmares . . . it's too much of a coincidence. I need to—

Buffy just showed up. I completely forgot I was supposed to join her at the hospital tonight. God, she could have been hurt, who knows how many vampires might have shown for the blood transport? I should stop drinking . . . but my nerves are shot. I have to keep this from Buffy. I have to protect her from my foolish mistake. It's him. He's returned. I called everyone else—Thomas, Dierdre . . . all of them are dead. They died within the past two weeks. I don't know how it's done it . . . but it's back. God, he's going to kill us all.

* * *

It's over. Eyghon has been destroyed . . . and so has my relationship with Jenny, most likely.

It is clear to me now that I should record all for posterity. Buffy knows the worst of me, and she has accepted it. I never wanted to tell her. I was such a damned fool then. Will this put a fracture in the trust Buffy places in me, too? I wouldn't be surprised. So, let us have it out then.

When I was twenty-one, the stress and cynicism I felt towards the Council had reached a breaking point. Three years prior, I had witnessed the massacre of my classmates at the hands of a Lorophage Demon. It was a test. The Council fed us information, and together, we were to take out a vampire. It's a test given to all Watchers-in-Training. Well, the information was faulty. It was not a vampire at all but a Lorophage demon. I watched as classmate after classmate was forced to relive traumatic events and driven insane . . . and killed by the demon. It had started to feed on me, making me relive some of the horrors of my training prior, when I was saved by my father and other Watchers. I was the only one to survive. I understood then exactly what I was to the Council, what all of us were—cannon fodder. This loathing and apathy towards the Council festered over the years until I reached the age of twenty-one. Fed up with it all, I left and traveled to London.

I discovered a small pack of sorcerers—and one witch—practicing their magicks in an abandoned warehouse. I joined them and together we explored magic. Of the five of us, Ethan and I were the most talented. The others relied on us to anchor their own magic. We started small. Hypnotizing or putting people into trances to do what we liked with them. Drugs were a constant goal for us. It was the seventies, and whilst America was having its wave of flower power, we were out to destroy the world. I was angry. I wanted to see everything burn. There were fights. A lot of fights. Pub brawls and the like. I spent some time behind bars, though only for a night or so, as my friends would work a bit of magic to get me out.

We were quite full of ourselves, none more so than myself. I fancied myself some sort of King of London. We had a reputation in the underground. Gangs knew not to mess with us. I was called 'Ripper' for my rather violent nature. As I said, I was . . . very angry. A good fight allowed me a few moments of peace from that rage. As good as we had it, Ethan and I always wanted more. So, we researched . . . and discovered Eyghon. By all accounts that we read, Eyghon was quite the party demon. The rituals were clear, and we fancied ourselves bright and talented enough to pull it off without consequences. God, we were such damned fools.

Ethan volunteered as the first to sleep. We drugged him, so he didn't wake, and then with the others, I led the summoning of Eyghon. Through the Mark of Eyghon, which we had all tattooed on ourselves, we would be able to experience through a psychological link to Ethan the pleasures Ethan experienced. It was a wild success. Ethan was possessed by Eyghon, and we were thrown into a nirvana of oblivion and orgasmic delight. Naturally, we became addicted. Normal drugs paled in comparison to the high Eyghon gave us. We discovered a way to expand this experience around us and hosted quite a few orgies. We were the place to party, and no one knew the reason behind its success.

Then it happened. It was going to just be another night. Another summoning. But somehow Randall lost himself and Eyghon took him whole. Though Eyghon can only temporarily possess a dead body, should he possess a living body, it becomes permanent. He is born into the host. Randall was killed. We tried to exorcize the demon from him. But we were already all so drunk and high that we fumbled and botched, and it was too late. Our attempts killed Randall. Eyghon was forced back into whatever hell dimension he governs, and we strayed from such demonic possession again. The death of Randall is something I shall forever grieve. That blood is on my hands.

I left the group shortly after that. For a time, I joined a band and played with them. We called ourselves Wretched. I was content enough for awhile. The music allowed me to have an outlet to express my anger and misery. Perhaps it's just my ego, but I think we might have been rather big had I kept the band together. But I ran into my Grandmother Edna, and she encouraged my return to the Watcher Council. As one can imagine, I felt dirty and imperfect. How could I command the Slayer to destroy evil, when I had, myself, been so touched by evil? When I clearly carried the scars of evil in my heart and soul?

She told me, and I recount now word-for-word, "You were a young fool who felt immortal, did remarkably ill-advised things, and it cost people their lives, eh? You bloody idiot. That doesn't disqualify you from being a Watcher. It makes you perfectly suited to mentor a Slayer. They're young girls granted tremendous power. Who can relate to them better? A man like your father, who's done the right and proper thing his entire life? Or you?"

With her words, I returned to my training. Ripper was put to rest, and I was Rupert Giles reborn. I suppose only time itself will prove if her words are true or not. Buffy has faced my past, defeated my personal demons and come out triumphant. She even attempted to comfort me after Jenny . . . The Slayer now knows all about her sorry-excuse-for-a-Watcher. Since she hasn't contacted the Council about replacing me, I suppose that's a good sign. But a wise one? I am as of yet, unsure. I watch her now, training, and she seems fully concentrated on her work, as if her entry into my dark past has left her unscathed. But has it? Will she ever look at me with the same amount of respect or trust? Perhaps I shouldn't care what my Slayer's opinion of me is, provided she gets the job done . . . but I do. I want Buffy to think the best of me.

And now . . . Jenny. To prevent this entry becoming the wailings of a teenaged girl scored by love, I shall simply state that . . . I am distraught. Jenny has every right to be upset with me . . . to be afraid of me. Eyghon possessed her after moving on from Philip's body. I don't know how aware she was of the experience. If she knew that she had tried to kill me and the others. Some part of me hopes that she had been blocked out from everything, if only to make the traumatic experience that much smaller. Whereas Buffy appears to be unscathed by the experience, Jenny is clearly the opposite.

She couldn't even let me touch her, let alone speak to me for more than five minutes. I've fancied myself in love a few times in my life, but nothing quite like this. I had been terrified when she had been possessed, that I might lose her. The only way I knew of to destroy Eyghon would be to destroy Jenny's body, and I couldn't even fathom the thought. Much like when Buffy was given the Mark of Eyghon—and I felt the psychological link to her when it was done—I knew that I'd give my life for hers. Buffy, Jenny . . . those are women I'd die for. I was fully prepared to do so tonight, but Angel came and forced Eyghon to jump into him. The demon inside Angel destroyed Eyghon, and Jenny was freed.

The hills are not alive. That is what Jenny told me. She was so very distant . . . and I don't think I'll ever forget how she recoiled from me when I offered a comforting hand. She'll never forgive me. And in that, I don't think she'll ever be able to love me. We nearly had it. I nearly had it. We'd had our first kiss just days before, and oh how the hills had sung then. It's incredible, what a lump of hours can change.

I suppose all I can do is wait and give Jenny some time and space. Perhaps things will get better. I'm not exactly sure I can extinguish the torch I bear for her. But if she needs me to, I can try. I am, after all, very English. Silently suffering is something we excel at. Buffy seems to have picked up on this, for she was the one who offered a clever ruse to distract me from the pangs of my heart. I do hope she gets her Mark removed quickly though. This whole . . . sensing one another thing is quite odd. For example, I can clearly sense her distaste and growing irritation with my choice of music whilst she trains. I've a feeling my Bay City Rollers is going to be changed out for her nonsensical noise soon.

Ah well. I really ought to stop listening to "The Way I Feel Tonight" anyway. I can understand her growing irritation, now that I think about it.

 **I'll just listen to mopey music when I get home.**

-Rupert Giles

1997


	22. What's My Line? Parts 1 & 2

My Slayer is in grave peril.

Someone has hired the Order of Taraka to execute her. I don't wish to spend much time on this entry, as I need to keep researching about a certain book that was taken from me, but as this is a crucial event, it would be poor of me not to record a few words at this time. Though I do not—as of yet—know who hired the Order, I do know _of_ the Order. They are a long-existing creed of assassins who, quite simply, are the best of the best. Though each individual assassin has their own methods, they share two common threads: One, that they lack empathy. Two, that they will not stop until their bounty has been collected. They are tireless and numberless. Many have simply taken their own lives when they learn that the Order is hunting them. There is no stopping them.

Buffy is in hiding. Where she is currently, I cannot say. On the one hand, I think this is best. Should the assassins decide to interrogate us as to her whereabouts, we cannot divulge it. On the other, I absolutely hate it. I do not know where she is, and I do not know if she is safe, or even alive. I just called Xander to check on her house once more, to see if she has returned there, but I doubt it. Her home is the first place the assassins would look. Still, I need to find Buffy. I've figured out—quite possibly—what the vampires are up to with the du Lac text and cross.

Earlier, Buffy told me that during one of her patrols, she caught a vampire tomb raiding. As this is not always normal vampire behavior—not in Sunnydale, at least—I insisted that we check the thievery out. Sure enough, it became clear to me that this banditry was far more than just a greedy vampire. They had robbed from the du Lac mausoleum, a notorious former member of the Vatican who had written and collected texts on mystical ways to unleash the greatest evils on the world. These texts were written in code, and to understand the code, one needed the du Lac Cross, a sort of "coder ring" as Buffy so described it.

It is clear that the vampires now have these two objects. Willow and I have spent the entire night and early morning attempting to figure out exactly what the vampires are up to with this text. She's asleep now, the poor girl. It's times like this where I truly appreciate what Willow brings to our little rag-tag team. She's fiercely intelligent, and unlike the others, I can bounce ideas off of her, and have her give an educated response in return. Without her aid, I'd likely be hours still from discovering what the vampires are doing. But I know now.

The particular description I was able to uncover from another text is one that involves a sort of healing ritual to return a sick vampire back to full health. As far as we know, there is only one vampire who is currently ill. Drusilla, Spike's paramour. It does not take a great leap to imagine then, that in order to keep all of us busy—primarily the Slayer—he has hired the Order to distract Buffy. We must act quickly. I have to wake Willow and tell her of my findings. More to come later . . .

* * *

The most extraordinary thing has happened. There are two Slayers. This phenomenon has never occurred before. This incidence is going to inspire so many new books on the Slayer and the process of being Called. I might even write one myself. For example, it has become clear that the amount of time one spends as dead does not matter. Since Buffy died, even if for only a few minutes, the powers that control the Calling moved onto the next girl to take her place. Yet, Buffy was revived, and her Slayer powers were retained.

Two Slayers. Fantastic. Her name is Kendra, and she comes from a tribe somewhere in Africa. Her Watcher is Sam Zabuto, a fiercely well-respected man. Intelligent, devoted and extremely traditional. It was clear that our methods were incredibly different, when I spoke with Kendra. Zabuto has trained his Slayer by the old traditions. Training and studying the Occult are all that Kendra knows. It is how all the Slayers before her—save Buffy—have been brought up. I must remark that it was refreshing to find a Slayer so ingrained in ancient texts. Kendra and I shared many enthusiastic discussions about this or that ancient author.

But there is one weakness Kendra has that I think will be her downfall. She lacks personal connections. Had one asked me a year ago, I would have said that Kendra would make for the best Slayer. Experience has taught me otherwise. Buffy is made the stronger for her emotional ties. She fights to protect, because she knows what will happen to her friends and family should she fall. It lends her extra strength, extra motivation and extra fire. Logically, if one places two individuals into an extreme battle where they both fatigued and wounded, is person A—who is emotionally invested in the people she is saving—or person B—someone emotionally distant and apart from those she is saving—more likely to come through? I think the answer is clear.

That being said, I do not criticize Zabuto's method of training. Indeed, had Buffy been more like Kendra, I'd likely have found myself training her in the old practices as well. But if I know my Buffy, she'll have awakened some sort of rebellious spirit in Kendra. I fear Zabuto may have a bit of a surprise in store for him. Poor lad. I ought to phone him and impart some Watcher advise. How amusing . . . I never thought that I'd have a colleague who I could speak with, and have them understand empathetically. Yes, I certainly think I will phone Zabuto more often.

Ah, but to the events. After discovering that this ritual was about healing Drusilla, we pulled together our resources and tried to figure out where the ritual was taking place. We knew it had to happen in a church, but the problem arose with the quantity of churches in Sunnydale. There's a slew of them. Why do we need so many churches? That can't be good for business, having everyone scattered like that. Anyway, Buffy and Kendra went to find Angel, as Kendra had locked him away to be torched by sunlight. Though Buffy had decided to go after Angel herself, Kendra returned to us and informed us that Buffy needed our aid.

So, we packed up our weapons and went on the march. I'm happy to say that we arrived just in time. I slew a few vampires, I'm proud to report. Kendra, Xander and—can you imagine it?—Cordelia took care of the assassins. Buffy dropped the church on Spike and Drusilla, and we saved Angel and all managed to get out unscathed. Well, not unscathed, but alive, at least. Kendra was extremely useful in this battle. Without her, we'd have likely been overcome.

Kendra has left us now, returned to her Watcher. I imagine she'll be sent to some other hellmouth or area of great evil. It's a relief to know that there is someone else out there fighting the good fight. This also gives Buffy a real chance to, perhaps, take some days off now and then. She has been expressing, as of late, her frustration over not being able to follow a career of her choosing. Her destiny, and all that goes with it, is difficult for her to swallow. She won't ever be free of her duties, but . . . perhaps having Kendra around will allow her to one day settle down a bit. Children, obviously, are out of the question with Angel, but date nights are not. Though it's difficult for me to imagine Buffy doing anything else but Slaying, I suppose she could always take up law enforcement. Of course, judging by the look she gave me when I suggested the profession, that seems rather out of the window.

Though Buffy may not realize it, she is living a more normal life than she knows. She is asking the question, "what do I do with my life?" And she is also receiving the equally normal and mundane answer . . . "I don't know."

And that is something every single person struggles with on this planet. Welcome to normalcy, Buffy.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	23. Ted

How to even begin? The past few days have been full of snogging and murder. A bit like _Hamlet._

First, I should state that the hills are alive once more. The snogging aforementioned has been between Jenny and myself. Yes. We are snogging. Lots of snogging. Though how we came about to such a delightful exercise is a rather comical story. Well, comical now. Painful, at the time.

As of late, Buffy had appeared more aggressive in her Slaying. Instead of staking, she'd reduce the vampires into nothing short of a bloody pulp before finally ending them. It was rather obvious to me that something was bothering her, but she did not feel fit to entrust me in the matter. It was through Willow that I learned her mother had taken up courting another man. His name was Ted, and by and large, he seemed to be a perfect fit for her mother. Willow and Xander admitted that they both thoroughly enjoyed Ted at first . . . until recent events. I had never met the man, myself, so I cannot cross reference their judgments with my own.

I can, however, understand Buffy's reluctance to warm to Ted. My father lived the majority of his life without my mother. She died shortly after I was born, though my father has never divulged to me as to the cause of her death. All the same, he was resolute never to be with another woman. I sometimes wondered what my childhood would have been like if my father had allowed another woman into his life. If her presence would have changed me in any way. Or if I would have resented my father—and thus his new love—for attempting to replace my mother. As children are naturally selfish, I expect it would have been the latter.

This resentment of Buffy's towards her mother's new beau seemed to escalate. It culminated to a point where Ted was suddenly found dead. I had only become aware of this new development after I was called in by some police to testify as to Buffy's recent behavior. Through them, I learned that Buffy had allegedly struck Ted, and he had fallen down a flight of stairs. They said she claimed Ted had struck her first, and he had threatened her prior to this event. As one can imagine, my opinion of Ted was immediately lowered to dirt and mud. A man who strikes a girl, or even threatens to do such, is no man at all. He's nothing short of a worm that deserves to be stepped on. He struck my Slayer. Ted is just lucky Buffy finished him off before I could get my hands on him.

During the investigation, I thought it prudent that I take up the nightly patrol. Buffy was in no state to do so. To her mind, she had killed an innocent man—a human. It's a guilt that festers forever. We do what we can to cover it up and distract ourselves from it . . . but the wound, the damage it causes us, remains. The only way to make that guilt disappear is through forgiveness. Self-forgiveness, in particular. Yet, that's easier said than done. I still haven't forgiven myself for what I did to Randall. It's a ghost that shall follow me everywhere.

On this patrol, I was intercepted by Jenny. I had previously tried to speak with her, but she was resolute that I should stop showing myself around her. To my surprise, she came to me now apologizing for her harsh words from that conversation. I was touched, to say the least, but then very quickly alarmed, as a vampire decided to show itself in that instant. Together, we defeated it, but not before Jenny . . . uh . . . miscalculated her aim and shot an arrow just above my left buttock. I haven't been able to sit properly yet. Let no one sneer at tweed now, however, for it saved my life. Its thick material kept the arrow from piercing too deeply. So, clearly, if one is traveling through a hostile area, pack on a few layers of tweed, and it just might save your life.

Jenny took me to the hospital, where I had my wound tended to, and then I was on my way. The entire experience allowed us time to talk. She accepted and forgave my past. She said something along the lines of, "those experiences made you the man you are today. And I like the man you are today." Suffice it to say, there was much blushing and blabbering on my part. It's not exactly worth recording all of that. At any rate, Jenny and I made peace.

Ted was discovered to be some sort of cyborg or robot or something. He is currently being compacted and molded into recycled metal. Good riddance. I hope his parts are used to make a washing machine, forced to clean smelly gym socks and mustard-and-horse-radish-stained shirts for the rest of his life. Robot Hell. I am relieved that Buffy's psyche has seemed to return to normal. She saved her mother from a terrible fate, and I have a feeling she's likely relieved that this incident will keep her mother from the dating pool for some time.

 **But yes, Jenny came into the library just now—or rather just left—and we've been at it for a good hour. Snogging, that is. Good lord, this is public property, I wouldn't dare . . . unless she wanted to . . . She came to see how I was doing, and then somehow her mouth landed on mine and**

Dear lord, this has turned into a teenaged girl's diary.

Monsters. Slaying. Job well done.

Don't get cross-bowed in the arse.

-Rupert Giles

1997


	24. Bad Eggs

It seems another week has passed without anything of note occurring. I suppose I should be glad of this, but ever since Spike and Drusilla were destroyed—or weakened considerably—it's become quite tedious around here.

Buffy has made mention of a vampire she encountered who seemed to be able to hold his own. I looked him up and found him listed among the vampire histories. He is one Lyle Gorge, who often runs with his brother. They were cruel before they were turned, driving entire towns into extinction in the West. Thought they had no reported special abilities or anything of the sort, it seems that together, they're quite formidable. I am not too worried, however. Buffy can easily dispatch the two. As I said . . . tedious.

Perhaps something more exciting is the current project Buffy's grade is participating in. They've all been assigned to caring for some . . . eggs. I suppose the goal is to come out at the end of the week—or however long—with an egg still fully intact. It's a rather odd way to teach one the horrors of teen pregnancy and early-life childcare. I say just send them all off to homes that contain one or more two year-olds. That will give them the shock and trauma needed to remember to put a rubber on. Eggs—quiet and still—are poor substitutes for a screeching babe who hasn't formed language yet, and so one is helpless in figuring out what the babe needs in order to hush it up, only to realize that the babe doesn't need or want anything, and is only screeching because it _wishes_ to do so.

I've looked after some infants before. Not the most conducive situations for reading.

Still, it does indicate on some level what sort of parent each student would be. For example, both Willow and Buffy expressed the standard care a mother exhibits towards her offspring—diligent, meticulous and warm. Then there is Xander . . . who chooses to hard boil his egg in order to keep it from breaking. He expressed what has come to be known as "tough love." As a recipient of this form of parenting, I cannot speak well as to the connection between offspring and parent, but it certainly does make the offspring more capable to deal with life's hardships. I suppose I have to admire Xander's Machiavellian approach.

But that seems to be all that is occurring. Nothing else is worth reporting. All is quiet on the Western Front, so to speak.

-Rupert Giles

1998

* * *

Apparently, I wrote that too quickly. Buffy just telephoned me to say that her egg hatched, and some scuttly little creature came out of it and attacked her. She's given me some vague description—"Gross, Giles! It has tentacles and is purpley and gross!"—so I am doing my best to find our little culprit in my books. I have it narrowed down to a bezoar and a-

* * *

Dear, what a discombobulating evening. Looking back on my journal, I see that I was attacked by the bezoar's offspring mid-writing. The entire experience is a wide blank, so I cannot give details as to what occurred, exactly. Only Buffy and Xander had managed to keep from being attacked and subsequently mind-controlled by the bezoar. Though I have successfully convinced everyone that we all passed out due to a gas leak, Xander has just informed me of the truth.

Apparently, those eggs contained little bezoar babies who are instrumental in helping keep their mother alive. The bezoar is a pre-prehistoric parasite. It was widely believed that they were all extinct, but as they prefer to hibernate for the majority of their lives, it's rather apparent that it is premature to say that they are extinct. Even more so when this new discovery claims the opposite. Whilst hibernating, the bezoar lays its eggs. Thousands and thousands of eggs, I might add. Once these eggs hatch, the offspring shares a telepathic link with its mother. The mother then dictates orders, and the offspring scuttle off to do her will.

Though Xander and Buffy were unclear as to what the bezoar's actual goal was, it seemed that the offspring—through us—were digging her up and taking care of the eggs that had yet to be hatched. It would seem that the bezoar's time of hibernation was over. With a small army at her side, to boot. Had those hatchlings escaped out into the world, there would have been a horde of mindless bodies for the bezoar to control and feast upon. As far as parasites go, the bezoar is fascinating and efficient. I can't help but admire it. It's lived for so long, likely been around before humans, and to this day, nearly won out against us. It's terrifying and humbling.

To the after-effects of the neural clamping, I can only speak of an odd dizziness. There's some irritation along my spine as well, where the offspring had pierced through my flesh to latch onto my spinal cord. The time during my mind-control I have no recollection of at all. The last thing I remember is sitting here at my desk, writing. Then I remember waking up in the hall. Buffy said that she and Xander had dragged everyone out of the basement once we had all passed out. Excellent thinking on their part. It would have been more difficult to explain away had they seen the dead carcass of the bezoar in front of them.

It seems as though fate had the last laugh, after all. I know better now than to think we're going to get through the week unscathed. Well, at least I wasn't the only one knocked out this time.

And as for the eggs and care-taking lesson, perhaps the fact that the eggs hatched into little creatures who utterly control their "parents" into doing their bidding is more representative of children than one might willingly admit.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	25. Surprise

I'm worried about Buffy; Angel and she had decided to go on a recon mission into Drusilla and Spike's lair, and they haven't reported back.

What was to be a night of frivolity and revels has turned into quite the nightmare instead. It's Buffy's birthday today. She's turning seventeen, and since so few Slayers are often graced with a seventeenth birthday, I was determined to throw a bash for her. The plan had been to gather in the Bronze and hide away. Jenny would tell Buffy that I wanted to meet with her on an urgent matter, and then drive her here, where we'd all jump out— **and hopefully not get staked in the process—** and shout celebratory birthday statements at her. Willow decided party hats and noisemakers were necessary. I insisted on cake. We'd even all bought her presents. I purchased a leather sling for her to place stakes, holy water, and other such items within the slots and carry around easily. Willow intimated that she bought Buffy some fancy shirt or other. **She'll like my present the most, obviously.**

These plans were rather ruined when we discovered that a vampire group Buffy had dispatched before the party was carrying a coffin. Inside the coffin was a severed arm that attacked Buffy. Angel realized what it was immediately—The Judge. Upon hearing the name, I recalled the horror stories associated with the Judge. A demon of the highest caliber, he was brought forth to the earth to separate the righteous from the wicked, and slaughter the righteous. A sort of reverse on The Rapture ideology. Legend has it that the Judge could not be killed, and so his body parts were removed one-by-one and separated to all corners of the world. It took armies and armies to do this. All of them fell before the Judge, who supposedly burned the humanity right out of them, until the body parts were separated.

Buffy has been having prophetic dreams, a figure prominent in them being Drusilla. It has become clear that we did not destroy her as we had hoped. It is she whom has been collecting the Judge's body parts and bringing them together in Sunnydale. In true hellmouth fashion, it would seem that we once more find ourselves in dire straits. We are unsure as of yet, how many parts Drusilla has acquired. Which is precisely why Buffy and Angel have decided to sneak into their lair and see for themselves. I find myself in the library now, with Willow, Xander, Cordelia and Jenny, and we are currently searching through ship logs and airplane shipments to determine if any of the packages brought here could contain parts of the Judge. If we can discover them, we can send out a task force to pick them up before the vampires arrive.

Yet, Buffy and Angel have not yet returned. Jenny has attempted to coax me, reminding me that if something had happened to Buffy, I'd have likely known about it by now. Spike and Drusilla are not ones to gloat privately. More than that, I'd just . . . know . . . if something happened to Buffy. I'd feel it.

But dear lord, what's keeping them?

-Rupert Giles

1998


	26. Innocence

Author's Note: Hello, dear readers! I just wanted to express my sincere gratitude once more for the continued support I've received in this wonderful exploration of Rupert Giles. In particular, thank-you to The Eclectic Bookworm and Cloongarvin for their inspiring and wonderful reviews. And thank-you to HarriettWithTea, ambrosia110 and LunaLikesSimonCats for the favorite and follow! And thank-you to my new followers: Cloongarvin, VikingSong and backdrifting. Much reserved and English love for you all!

* * *

The Angel who once aided us in our battles has been lost to us. Angelus has returned.

I find myself cold when I recall the terrible deeds Angelus performed in the centuries he has lived. The terror and cruelty he has spread. Though Spike has two Slayers on his killed list, he has lacked for Angelus' brutality. Sunnydale is so very small . . . Angelus could destroy it in a single night. Perhaps it can be considered a Catch-22 that he is fixated on Buffy at the moment. It spares the innocent residents of Sunnydale for as long as he is amused by torturing the Slayer. And amused, he is.

My poor Buffy. I did not exactly what was wrong with her when she appeared in the library after her long absence. I was too relieved to see her unharmed to think much more of her worry as simple concern over Angel, who—apparently—had been missing. Though at the time, Buffy told me they had split up after their encounter with the fully-formed Judge, I am now aware of the facts. To protect her private life, I shant go into detail here. However, they did not split up, and in that time, Angel experienced true happiness . . . which freed him from the Curse he was under, his soul immediately removed.

Buffy and I only now know about the Curse because of . . . Jenny. My **former beau** Miss Calendar informed us that her people had long suffered Angel's brutality in particular. The gypsy clan thus cursed Angelus with a soul, to be forever plagued and tormented by his past transgressions. Jenny, which I now realize likely isn't even her real name, was sent to watch and spy on Angel to ensure that the Curse remained. It was her duty to keep Buffy and Angel apart, as it was clear that Buffy made Angel very happy indeed. She claims that she did not know what would happen should . . . the event that transformed Angel into Angelus occur . . . but I find myself wary of believing her. She deceived Buffy. She deceived me. Had she been using me, too? I am closely involved with Buffy, and thus closely involved with Angel. Parading around on my arm would make her job easier. **But it had felt so real.**

No, I don't know how to feel about Miss Calendar at the moment. I'm still reeling from it all. We've just destroyed the Judge with a missile launcher—a most unorthodox means of Slaying, I must say. Yet, we were successful. Though the Judge is not dead, his parts were blown off, and we've neatly stored them away to be shipped out via The Council to the far corners of the world once more. I feel I must add that it was because of Xander that we were able to claim this victory. It was his master plan . . . and it worked. I have never felt particularly proud of that one before, but he has my pride and respect now. **At least for tonight.** The missile launcher has been returned to the army base, though I was sad to see it go. Unorthodox though it was, it certainly got the job done. One wonders if the old ways of melee Slaying should step aside for this new bullet style of Slaying . . . but no. There isn't much honor in simply pulling a trigger. Traditions are kept for a reason, after all.

But my god . . . Buffy. I cannot imagine the heartbreak she experiencing. To give someone wholly of oneself, and to find a monster in the place of one's lover . . . My heart aches for her. My betrayal with Jenny hardly even compares to her own. Buffy needs my support more than ever. She expressed a desire—or perhaps some expectations—of my making her feel guilty over the entire affair in the car just an hour ago. Silly girl. She is my Slayer. More than that, she is my very good friend. I see her pain, and I wish I could carry it for her, freeing her. I shall always admire her, respect her, support her. Our conversation in my car reminded me of how young she truly still is. In fact, she is the embodiment of an oxymoron. She is considerably older, in terms of Slayer-years. Few have reached seventeen. Yet, for all of that, she is still a young woman, vulnerable and naïve to the world in many ways. I thought she had lost her innocence before, when she faced the Master and died . . . but I was mistaken. It was this betrayal of her love and trust that has truly stolen her innocence from her. My heart breaks for her.

It is because of her need for support, that I have turned my back on Miss Calendar. I love her still. I'll likely always love her. But she hurt Buffy. And I am a Watcher before I am a man. My Slayer always comes first. All of this deceit and betrayal brings a quote from the magnificent Oscar Wilde to mind.

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves  
By each let this be heard  
Some do it with a bitter look  
Some with a flattering word  
The coward does it with a kiss  
The brave man with a sword"

I think about the months ahead, and I feel . . . tired. I know Angelus will come after Buffy. He'll wish to destroy her emotionally before finally killing her. He'll target her friends, and likely me as well. It's war we're entering now. The old adage seems to be something Angelus lives by, "all's fair in love and war." Our hopes will rest with Buffy.

I pray she has the strength to do what she must, before we lose all.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	27. Phases

I am thrilled to say we have our first werewolf in Sunnydale.

Perhaps that was a bit too enthusiastic. Werewolves are tragic creatures, and their condition is extremely regrettable. The existence of the werewolf was brought to our attention by none other than Xander and Cordelia. They were attacked during one of . . . well, whatever it is young people do in parked cars. In the two nights following, Buffy and I had been hunting for it.

Unlike vampires and demons, a werewolf is a special creature that does constitute immediate Slaying. Oftentimes, a werewolf has no idea that he or she is a werewolf. A scratch or bite can happen easily, and since werewolves are often written-off as rabid dogs, they are unaware that they are in fact carrying the disease. I use the word 'disease' lightly here, as lycanthropy is something severely under-studied. We simply do not know if it is indeed a virus, or if it is an entire new write-up of the genetic code. Werewolves are difficult to study, as they are not the easiest to catch. Often, they are isolated and live in remote regions. Those who live in packs choose to do so far from human populations. Many who discover what they are simply commit suicide. As I said, tragic.

There are two confirmed truths about lycanthropy, however. One, that contrary to popular belief, the werewolf changes three nights. On the full moon, and the two moons surrounding it. Two, that a werewolf can be killed by silver bullets. For whatever reason, a werewolf is extremely allergic to silver. The element breaks apart their tissue—dissolving it, really—and breaks apart their central nervous system. It's a painful way to go, by all standards, and rather immediate if shot close to the heart or brain. Now, should a werewolf touch silver by accident or otherwise, he or she may not die, but they will likely have extremely agitated skin where the silver touched, and might suffer some varying degree of blood poisoning.

However, one really should consider showing mercy to a werewolf instead of killing. Buffy and I encountered a hunter who thought quite the opposite. A disgusting excuse of a man named Cain had come to Sunnydale once he heard about the attacks. Misogynistic, crude and an all-around imbecile, Cain attempted to kill the werewolf, but we were—luckily—able to tranquilize it before Cain could do anything. I'm pleased to say that Buffy bent his ego in half and sent him on his way with his tail tucked between his legs. Had he stayed around a moment longer or uttered one more syllable about Buffy's place in the kitchen, it would have come to fisticuffs between the two of us. And I'm rather good at fisticuffs.

With the werewolf tranquilized, we caged him in the library—after removing delicate materials—until dawn. Our werewolf is Oz. I'm not entirely sure what his actual name is, everyone only ever calls him Oz. He's Willow's beau, and a musician, I've heard. Oz has only recently joined us on our adventures, though by accident, really. That he has kept Buffy's secret and managed to cope with the knowledge of what haunts the night does him credit in my book. That, and he makes Willow happy, for which I am pleased to observe. Of course, with this new revelation, I'm not sure if their relationship will move forward or not, but if Willow truly has blossoming feelings for the boy, I highly doubt she'll let such a thing like lycanthropy keep her from him.

Speaking of loves, Angelus has decided to more-or-less give Buffy a break this week. Though he did turn a fellow student into a vampire and sent her after Buffy with a message, that was the most of his appearance. I think this incident with Oz the Werewolf was a welcomed distraction for her. It will take considerable time for her to be ready to face Angelus. I'm just unsure how much time Angelus will afford her.

Either way, the case of the werewolf is closed. We're reinforcing the cage in the library for Oz to transform in on future full moons. With him around, perhaps I can persuade him to be a subject of study for me. He could teach us a great deal more about werewolves.

Though I have a feeling Willow will refuse any practical experimentation on her beau.

Pity.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	28. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Alexander Harris is a pillock.

As if my own case of keeping teenaged boys from magic weren't enough, Xander is a leading example of why magic shouldn't be entrusted to those controlled by hormones. Or the idiotic. He covers both. The fool, having found himself stag on Valentine's Day, decided to enact vengeance on Cordelia by performing a love spell on her. Love spells remain among the most complex and should only ever be performed by the most experienced and skilled witches and warlocks. That being said, I would prefer that love spells be entirely removed from all spellbooks pronto. Never in my experience have I witnessed a love spell go right.

That doesn't even consider the question of ethics. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't believe a man—or woman—should force another to love them. In fact, I believe the technical term for such a forced act without consent is called rape. I am disgusted by Xander's intentions, good-natured though it might have been. If a woman does not fall for one's charms, then one moves on to find another mate. One does not concoct some nasty love spell to make one's target fall deeply in love with oneself. It's not real love. It's obsession. And obsession can turn violent and lethal. This was nearly the case with Xander.

Since, naturally, the spell did not work properly—in that the entire female population 'loved' Xander, and not Cordelia—they started to turn on one another when Xander expressed specific interest in one person. Had the spell continued, I am convinced that the female population would have destroyed themselves. As much as I respect and admire the gender, they can be terrifying when the feral, primal part of them is unlocked and released.

I was barely able to keep Amy and Jenny under control. Indeed, Jenny fell under the spell as well, much to my annoyance. Though I'm not exactly on speaking terms with her, I certainly did not appreciate seeing her moon over someone else. Particularly when that someone else is a tosser named Xander. I mean she was practically clawing at him! **She never did that to me.** And the lip biting! There was lip biting! **I thought that was reserved just for me.** Bloody hell. I loathe love spells.

Among all of us, Amy—the one who did the actual casting of the spell—turned Buffy into a rat during a fit of jealousy. I spent at least a quarter of the hour chasing the Buffy Rat down. In that time, she managed to leave little rat pellets behind the bookcase and chew the corner cover of _The Pseudomonarchia Daedonum_! What did Johann Weyer ever do to her!? I sent Oz off to find her, hoping that perhaps his werewolf senses might be able to track her down. Since I saw her earlier before class, I can assume that he was successful.

I don't understand. What is it about Valentine's Day that drives everyone into shameless and inane peacocks? The actual history of the day is attributed to a Saint that not even the Roman Catholic Church really knows much about. Not to mention, there were many early martyrs with the name Valentine. The actual holiday of romance we think of today can likely be contributed to Chaucer, the damn fool. He's to blame for it. Perhaps it's just my cynicism showing, but I rather think that love should be expressed every day. There doesn't need to be great acts of love, but as a man, I feel it is my duty as an agent of love to make sure my beau always feels loved and appreciated and adored. It is simply common sense. There doesn't need to be a special day devoted to hand-holding and card-sharing. Not when one can surprise her by doing so whenever one wishes.

Valentine's Day feels so callous to me. If one is in a relationship, one expects cards or chocolates or some sort of trinket. There's nothing special about it. Perhaps it's just because I carry a romantic heart, but I've always felt that one should cherish one's paramour every day. If there is anything about this life I've learned, it is that our time here is short. If one is in love, then one should celebrate that every day.

Alright, that's enough of that talk, or else I risk my carefully crafted disguise of stuffiness and stoicism.

Perhaps I should give Jenny a chance to speak with me.

And give Xander a right good whack upside the head.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	29. Passion

Jenny is dead-

* * *

 **/** _The paper is stained with little circles of dried droplets, and the handwriting is unkempt._ **/**

A week has passed since it happened, since I wrote those words in my journal. The pain is still . . . fresh. Still consuming. But if I do not relate this tale, I'd be doing a disservice to her. Jenny deserves to be remembered. Though I shall never forget her or the wonderful things she made me feel, I need her to be recorded in these pages, so she'll live on forever.

Forgive the shaky hand, I may be determined, but I am not necessarily sober. Facing that horror, reliving that hell . . . it takes its toll. Even being in the same house has proven to be difficult. Shortly after the funeral, I stayed in a hotel for a few days, unable to sleep here. Eat here. Live here. But here I am, facing it, as we all must do when we've lost someone dear to us.

It began with a note. A drawing, to be more exact. Angelus left Buffy this token whilst she slept, and she expressed a need to revoke the invitation right. I was particularly drawn to Jenny that day and voiced my study of a ritual that might do what we sought. She just so happened to have a book not in my collection. I've only recently discovered that she had bought it for me for Valentine's Day, but as the state of our relationship was rather fragmented, never had the courage to present it to me. There's an inscription carefully written on the inside cover.

'I don't much care for this holiday either. But who says a woman can't one-up her loved one? For my sexy fuddy-duddy, all of my love. PS: I finally found a book you don't own. I call this cause for a secluded 'snog' eh, England? Yours, Jenny.'

The fact that she defaced an ancient text but filled it with an adorable text, likely to give rise to my consternation, just shows what kind of woman she **is** was—one who knew how to work me extremely well. Dear lord, I miss her. Must continue . . .

It was at this exchange that she let slip that she loved me. That though her duty had come first, she had not expected or planned to fall in love with me. There are few moments in my life where I can recount a feeling of acute joy. Buffy killing the Master was one of them . . . Jenny admitting her love was the other. Chelsea winning the League Cup against Middlesbrough just awhile ago was another. I just never expected such joy to be sucked from me so quickly or harshly.

With this book, I discovered a ritual which allowed for the countermand of the invitation right. Whilst Buffy and Willow performed it on both of their homes, I noticed that Jenny was working late. I popped in, and she told me she was working on something, but she didn't wish to share unless she was right. I . . . invited her to my home later . . . and I left. I can't help but think if I had stayed to help, I might have been able to give her a running chance. By the state her classroom was found in, it was obvious the struggle at least began there. Angelus might have killed me instead of her.

Whilst all of this was happening, I went to Buffy's to check on the ritual. Willow greeted me at the door, giving my book back. It seemed Angelus had made an appearance to Buffy's mother, as they were now having the dreaded Talk. I bade a quick farewell and returned home, fully intending to begin the ritual. When I arrived, I found a rose attached to my door. Recalling that I had invited Jenny over earlier, I immediately thought it was from her. Of course, the fact that my door was locked and Jenny doesn't have a key should have clicked, but it didn't. I thought it was Jenny.

I entered. La Bohème (O Soave Fanciulla) was playing. I can't ever hear that song again. I threw out the record when I arrived after . . . after. There was a bucket of ice with a wine bottle inside and a note. 'Upstairs' it said, and upstairs I went. Foolishly, I still believed this to be some wonderful act of seduction by Jenny's hand. Then I found her where I expected to find her . . . though not how. She was dead. Her neck snapped. Positioned in just the right way for me to see her lifeless eyes waiting for me. I can't fully recall what happened after this moment. I was in a sort of . . . haze. I was numb. Shell-shocked, perhaps. I know I called Buffy and Willow told them what had happened. And I know I went to the police station and described to them the events as I knew them.

It was only when I stood outside of my door once more that I felt anything. Rage. A rage such as I have never tasted before. It was coupled with the eeriest form of calm. I knew what I needed to do. I acted without much thought. It's difficult to describe exactly how I felt. I was so detached from everything, it was nothing I have experienced before. Perhaps I was suicidal . . . I know I didn't care that I was walking to my most certain death. There was only one concern I had—hurting Angelus as much as he had hurt me. I think a large part of me wanted to die. Because then I could be with Jenny again.

The attempt failed, of course. Both attempts, really. I did not destroy Angelus, though I feel I gave him a good fright and some burns to go along with it. Buffy intervened and ultimately saved my life. I was cross with her, of course. Perhaps a part of me, the selfish part, still is. She denied me my death. My release and reunion. I wept. How I wept. My Slayer wept with me. She did succeed in grounding me, however. She reminded me that she couldn't face her duty without me. So, here I am. Resolute to continue on. Buffy lost her love, too. It would be unfair of me to leave her as well. Though she was incorrect in claiming that she needed me, that she couldn't do it alone. I need her so much more than she needs me. Without her, I am entirely alone. Buffy still has her mother, her friends. I have no one but the Slayer now.

My darling Jenny, I am so very sorry. You would have lived had I never stumbled into your life. Not enough people will know what a light you were in this world. And no one shall know just what you meant to me. Your sacrifice has impressed on me a fact I have been too soft on—never trust a vampire. I won't forget the lesson. Ever again. Vampires are by nature evil and selfish. They do not love, and they do not know goodness. If they did, they wouldn't have been able to touch you.

Tomorrow, my new bed arrives. I've been sleeping on the couch. I can't . . . sleep in the same bed that I found her in. I had it burned. Sheets, pillows and all. Perhaps with the new bed, the violation that occurred here will start to ache less. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the sight, whenever I climb my stairs to reach my bed. And roses. God, I can't ever smell roses again. Scent has always been a direct link to memory for me. My neighbor grows roses. I'm going to ask her kindly tomorrow, if she'll consider growing something else instead. I can't stand to smell them.

What else is there to say? That I'm doing better? That would be a lie. I'm functioning again, and I consider that some progress. The group has been wonderful in their support. Even Xander has managed to make me smile. Buffy is helping the most. She understands my needs whenever I'm not feeling myself, which is simply to work and focus my mind. Though I know she can handle the patrols on her own, she has insisted that I join her. I will say, staking a few vampires serves to improve my mood for a few hours. Yet it always happens . . . I sink back into a listless despair. I'm trying to crawl out of it. I know I need to. But then I remember her eyes . . . and the roses.

It will get better with time. I know it will. The ache in my heart will hurt a little less every day. The lump in my throat will eventually dissipate. The tears in my eyes will dry. Is this a disservice to her though? She was so unfairly taken before her time, so shouldn't I suffer eternal agony over it? Someone has to. There has to be a balance for an act such as that. Angelus' death, I suppose, will have to serve. I know, inevitably, I'll become numb to the pain. I might actually know what happiness feels like again. Not today though. And certainly not tomorrow. Some day.

Jenny, I'm sorry.

Jenny, I **love**. . .

I **loved**

I love you.

Dear lord, I miss you.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	30. Killed By Death

Despite our losses, life has continued on . . . and so have the new residents of Sunnydale.

A sudden flu outbreak in the high school has sent numerous students and teachers to the hospital. I've been spared its unpleasant symptoms, but Buffy has not. She was the only one of our group who fell ill to the flu. Indeed, quite literally "fell." I received a call from Willow where she informed me that Buffy had collapsed after a fight with Angel in the graveyard. Naturally, I rushed to put on clothes and hurried over to the hospital. Though, of course, I had to take the time to make sure I was fully and appropriately dressed. Sweater, shirt, tie and jacket, of course. I do hope Buffy didn't take my need for proper appearances as a slight against the urgency to see her.

One of the special properties a Slayer has is her advanced healing. This does not simply stop at physical injuries. Her immune system is quite the marvel. Within two days, her system had knocked out the virus that had killed a few students and kept the others quarantined for a week at a time. One wonders . . . but no. It wouldn't be right to take a sample of Buffy's blood and examine it for enzymes or some such thing that might be incorporated into medicine for the general population. Unthinkable.

In true hellmouth fashion, Buffy's stay at hospital was eventful. She encountered a monster which could only be seen by children or those extremely delirious with illness. I admit that I was quite perplexed at first, as to what monster this might have been. Cordelia made mention of the monster actually being part of Buffy's traumatized psyche that needed to vanquish something in order to deal with the inability to save her cousin, Celia, when she had been hospitalized. Buffy had been eight at the time and ripe for a childhood trauma. I must confess that blunt though Cordelia had been about it, I thought she might be right. That, in itself, shows the strain I've been under lately. **Cordelia and logic. Ha!**

All the same, Buffy's obvious discomfort of hospitals did lead credence to this theory. To focus my mind, however—or perhaps distract it, I spent some time researching our first suspect, Doctor Stanley Backer. Buffy thought him creepy, and as he spent most of his time in the children's ward, he had the most access. The victims of this unfortunate monster were children, I'm sad to report. Though Willow and I uncovered a few dirty secrets about Backer, it proved fruitless, as he was killed by the actual monster shortly after. When visiting Buffy, she presented to me a picture one of the children had drawn of the monster, in the hopes that I might be able to match it up with one of the pictures in my books.

We also gave Buffy little presents to make her feel better. Xander brought her a bunch of balloons, Willow her finished homework, and I brought her grapes . . . which I may or may not have been snacking on. Grapes are excellent, after all, and as a stress eater—and a general fan of food—I couldn't really help myself. However, I will admit that I prefer grapes in their squished and distilled form . . . Wine, I prefer them as wine.

I began research anew, though this time chained to **the Hell dimension called** Cordelia. That I did not break anything is a testament to my patience. She wouldn't stop asking questions, it was like working with a five year old. "What's this?" "What's that?" "What does that do?" "What's the meaning of life?" Pointless, pointless, pointless! Just as I was about to go mad and submit myself to the nearest asylum, we chanced upon the monster. His name is Der Kindestod.

Obviously German in nature, the term "kindestod" actually can be found in the phrase, "plötzlicher Kindestod ," which translates to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The correlation is obvious. Kindestod feeds upon the young, sucking the life force from them. Obviously, it is a means to extend his own life. I am unsure of how many of his species there are, or if he is the only one. Since there has been numerous cases of children dying from fever or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, it makes me suspicious as to the true causes of death, as well as believing that he is the only one. The unfortunate business is that unless one is a child, or extremely delirious with fever, to see him, combating such a species is extremely difficult. We were actually quite lucky that Buffy took ill when she did and was able to see the monster. Otherwise, we too, would have merely chalked up the children's deaths to the flu.

Whilst I researched a way to kill Der Kindestod, Buffy went right after it. Apparently, the children had decided to flee the hospital instead of simply remaining around to be killed. Resourceful, I must commend them. Buffy reported that she killed Der Kindestod simply by breaking his neck. This then proves the theory that though he may be invisible to most, he is, in fact, still a corporeal being. He can be touched and killed through normal means.

Buffy and the others are, as I understand it, back at her house. We can slot this one as a victory and await the next terror to raise its ugly head. Xander reported that Angelus had attempted to come see Buffy her first night in hospital. He remains, as always, a constant threat. Though he's had his fun with me, I remain wary of who he shall set his sights on next.

This makes me recall . . . Joyce was kind enough to express her sympathies for my loss. She informed me that if I ever needed anything, she and Buffy were just a phone call away. It was touching, since I've only spoken to Buffy's mother a handful of times. She didn't need to say anything, but she did.

I think I know where Buffy's goodness comes from.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	31. I Only Have Eyes for You

There has been a sudden increase in paranormal activity in the school as of late. It can only mean one thing—Jenny is here.

Between Buffy, Xander and myself, there have been numerous reports of Poltergeist activity. An arm came out of Xander's locker and attempted to throttle him. Buffy has been seeing flashes from the past. As for my own experience, it was this final example that proved to me that the ghost is, in fact, Jenny. I was sitting in my office when I heard screaming. While I was on my way out to investigate, I heard a voice clearly say, "I need you." Though quiet, it sounded feminine to me. It also invoked something . . . well, let's just call it familiar. I _felt_ Jenny. Following the shouting, I came upon a man—a janitor—just as he shot a woman off of the balcony. Shocked though I was, I waited until the man rushed past me to tackle him down. The man recalled killing the woman—later identified as a teacher—but he could not recollect why he had done such a thing. The police arrived after I called, and together, we searched for the gun, but it could not be found.

It is clear to me that this ghost is extremely frustrated and agitated and quite powerful, if it is capable of possessing human bodies already. As with demons, there are hierarchies of ghosts. The Poltergeist remains near the top, a nexus of power and ability. However, a Poltergeist is often unaware that it's dead or what is doing. It is trapped in a plane that is not quite the living and not quite the dead. Whether it retains its memories or not is random. Some do, and some do not. Those who do not are often the Poltergeists of legend. The ones who harm the living and inspire those overly exaggerated ghost films.

The means to be rid of a Poltergeist is simple in theory, but quite difficult in practise. One must discover the unfinished business or the reason that tethers the spirits to our world. It can be as simple as telling a loved one the spirit's final wishes. Or as difficult as discovering the spirit's murderer, for example. Some Poltergeists are doomed to walk the plane between the living and dead forever. There are specialists in the Occult world, of course, who make it their business to help such spirits, but they are few and far inbetween. Not to mention, a great lot of them are frauds.

The others are wary to agree with me on my identification of the spirit being Jenny's. I know they likely think my decision is colored by my grief. They're wrong. I am thinking quite clearly and rationally. Jenny was the last person who died here under extremely violent means. She also had been working on something, something she was never able to tell me. If there is anyone with unfinished business, it is her. I'm going to sneak into the school and attempt to contact her tonight. I say sneak because the school is currently closed down due to an infestation of serpents.

I do hope they've all been removed. I dislike snakes. Not to the degree that Doctor Indiana Jones does, of course, but I'd rather not have them slinking around my ankles. I'll continue this entry later.

* * *

I've been attempting to communicate with Jenny for a few hours now. It is widely accepted by the Occult world that three in the morning is the time of the witching hour. When spirits and demons are at their highest power. If I am to make contact with her, it will likely be then. Still, I dislike tardiness. If Jenny is doing this to tease me, then I both love her for it, and am entirely flummoxed. Besides the usual Ouija board, I have also created a circle, to which she should be able to enter and take a visible form to me. Call me desperate, but I've also purchased a sort of electromagnetic detector which ought to tell me if her spirit is near. I've had a few spikes already, but nothing consistent.

The gang is here as well. I saw Willow outside of the library with a candle and scapula. She's learned much from her study of Jenny's notes. I have to admit, I'm rather proud of her skill displayed so far. She knew to form the scapula with sulfer. The protection amulet ought to keep them safe from the lesser-powered spirits, and even in the face of this more powerful Poltergeist, it will ward off some of their more potent attacks. It does reek though. I can still smell it, and Willow has been away for at least fi-

* * *

It wasn't Jenny.

My departure was brought on by Willow's screaming. I found her being dragged down into the floor by a spectral arm. I managed to drag her out of it—but not without falling down the stairs in the process. Quite a few lumps from that. They were right. Willow put it best, really. Jenny could never be this mean. And she's right. Jenny had a benevolent spirit. Even if wrought from tragic circumstance, that spirit would have guided her into communicating with us gently. Not in the horrific and harmful ways displayed tonight.

I had just thought . . . I had been unable to save her physical body. If I could have at least saved her spirit, perhaps then I wouldn't feel so guilty as I do about her death. I suppose the fact that it wasn't her spirit should give me relief. It means she crossed over without difficulty. Living in the world we do, knowing what I know about demons and hell dimensions, even at my most cynical, I cannot believe in the absence of heaven. If there is hell, then there must also be heaven. I hope Jenny is there. She ought to be. Safe and content. Perhaps missing me a tad. That would be nice. She doesn't need my help here. I'll have to accept that she's truly gone and . . . find some way forward.

To record the true cause of all the paranormal activity, the gang had it right. A teacher and student, Miss Newman and James, had an illicit relationship here in 1955. On the night of the Sadie Hawkins dance, a tradition still celebrated here, James killed Miss Newman. Apparently, she was ending their relationship, and he took it quite badly, killing her and then himself. Though the activity began before the Sadie Hawkins dance, it has only grew in power until tonight, which would have been the Sadie Hawkins dance, had the school not closed. November 13th.

It became clear that James' spirit was trapped in a state of purgatory. He was forced to relive killing his lover over and over through possessing two living beings in the school. Buffy was possessed by James, and by her account, Angelus had been possessed by Miss Newman. She shot Angelus, but since he is a vampire, I am sad to say that he did not die. The two embraced, and the spirits were released, James' spirit at last receiving the forgiveness it needed to move on.

Buffy has been perplexed by this all night. She has expressed numerous times that James should not be forgiven and has been sitting in my office, mulling over the fact that Miss Newman did finally forgive him, since. Sometimes I forget how young she is—how young they all are, really. As I said to her, and I shall record here for posterity, forgiveness is an act of compassion. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it. I'm not entirely sure Buffy grasped my meaning, and I don't suppose I really expect her to. Not yet. She's still eaten up with guilt about Jenny. About all the others Angelus has harmed since his transformation. I think, at the moment, she needs to believe that forgiveness cannot be awarded to those who do terrible things. She still struggles with her duty, and what she must do to Angelus when the time comes. For her, I think it is easier to believe that not everyone deserves forgiveness.

But it is in the act of forgiving, that we can grow and find peace ourselves. I have forgiven Angelus. I have not forgotten, no, but I have forgiven. I had to, if I ever wanted to sleep at night again. Forgiveness is not as selfless as we are made to believe. True, it gives the one being forgiven some release. What it does for us is far more, however. As I said, it gives peace. Calm. There is an acknowledgment of a wrong performed, and then following a sense of . . . power. Perhaps I'm doing it wrong. But there is much to be said about being the "bigger person" as the phrase goes.

Buffy may not get it now. It's okay if she doesn't. If it is anger that she needs to Slay Angelus, then so be it. I just have to make sure I'm able to temper her afterwards.

The rest of the group has cleared out now, save, as I mentioned, for Buffy. I ought to drive her home soon. Perhaps I should give her the rose quartz. Willow found it in one of Jenny's desk drawers. The rose quartz is said to have healing powers, for those near enough its presence. She was kind enough to give it to me, stating that she thought Jenny would want me to have it. It was a kind gesture from Willow. She really is a sweet girl. I've had it in my jacket pocket since, but . . . I think Buffy needs it more than I do. I can survive my grief. Buffy is in eternal torment until Angelus has been rid of, and even then she'll grieve afterwards for the man who had once been her love.

Yes, I think I'll offer it to her. But first, I must take her home. We've both been here too long.

This place is full of ghosts.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	32. Go Fish

What's a sure way to improve one's swim team? Why, turning them into sea monsters, of course!

I wish I were jesting. I am not. For whatever reason, the Coach of the swimming team found himself desperate enough for some wins that he subjected them to steroids. Apparently, the students knowingly and readily accepted these steroids. It's apparent that all of them are lacking in honor. If it weren't for the eventual attacks that would come from these individuals, I'd say they earned their new bodies and leave them as such. **Alas, that is heavily frowned upon.**

For, as most performance-enhancing drugs tend to do, there were dire side-effects of the particular steroid Coach Marin gave to his team. They turned into sea monsters. Indeed, _Creature of the Black Lagoon_ type sea monsters. Rather disgustingly too, I might add. It isn't that their bodies simply grow gills and transform into some sort of scale. No, the creature is born from within them until it reaches maturation. Then, through what I expect is rather painful experience, the students are forced to remove their own skin, the creature in full-form afterwards.

I have not had the opportunity to observe these monsters at any great length, so I cannot speak as to if they are the same students we know, or if their minds have adapted to better suit their more monsterly agenda. All the same, I find the entire thing completely ridiculous. Is winning sports competitions really this important? That we sacrifice our dignity and honor for trophies? Perhaps I don't understand because I've never been one to participate in sports myself. I am a fervent supporter of football, of course, but I would lose interest and love for my Chelsea team if they started turning into tentacle-wielding footballers in order to win more. **The thought of anything with tentacles is actually quite horrifying.**

As for the rest of the swim team who have not—as of yet—turned into sea monsters, I have just treated them with what I believe should be a cure. Xander, though he wasn't exposed nearly as much as the rest of the team, was greatly concerned that he would suddenly find himself with gills as well. Though I am not fearful for his condition, I have given him a dose of the cure as well. It's simple in nature. To counteract the sea monster genes from growing, I've introduced a plasmid that will target those genes, engulf them and destroy them. Plasmids are quite fond of multiplying, so I really only need to give a low dose to each patient, and let biology do the rest of the work. I think I've earned a pat on the back for this excellent work, if I do say so myself.

One unpleasant bit of business during the investigation, was a trip into the sewers. Armed with the tranquilizer gun, I joined Buffy to see if we could find the home of this sea monster. This was, of course, before we knew the sea monsters and the swim team were the same. It was disgusting. If I never have to go into a sewer again, it will be too soon. The smell, the damn moisture. My socks had gotten soaked, and they were all folded up in my shoes. I was entirely unprepared for a stroll through the underworld of a toilet. That being said, let it never be said that the British were not well-dressed for all occasions. We may be uncomfortable. We may even secretly hate ourselves for our attire choices. But we'll look bloody proper and well-dressed doing it.

At any rate, with the team properly cured, and the other sea monsters having escaped out into the ocean, I consider this investigation officially closed. I do warn, however, that for the next few months until the sea monsters have properly migrated into deeper waters, one is wary when one steps into the ocean. They do like to eat human flesh, after all. I suggest water wingies and a spear gun.

-Rupert Giles

1998

OH, high cholesterol! Because of the skin! Well done, Buffy. Most amusing.


	33. Becoming (Parts 1 & 2)

It would seem the final battle against Angelus is finally upon us.

The library is abuzz with activity, but there is a brief lull, in which I shall record what I can. Willow is currently researching on how to perform a Restoration Spell. The spell, with the help of an Orb of Thesula—something I just so happen to have in my possession—is supposed to restore Angel's soul. There was some heated debate on whether or not the spell could be cast at all. I admit even I'm a little uncomfortable with the thought of Angel walking amongst us again after all he has done . . . but it was Jenny's last wish.

Indeed, that something that she had wished to speak with me about so long ago, was this spell. She managed to find the original incantation of the Curse her people performed on Angel years ago. She even managed to translate it. The only thing she was lacking were the necessary ingredients to be used in the spell-casting itself. It was because of this that Angelus killed her. My sweet Jenny . . . This was her attempt to make it up to Buffy—to us all. And she was brilliant. The sort of thing she pulled off, the deep research she must have performed, none of it had to be easy. But she did it. She managed to copy it onto one of those **loopy** floppy disks. Buffy and Willow discovered it whilst studying in her classroom.

Though a large part of me would like to see nothing more than Buffy driving a stake through Angelus' heart, I have to see that Jenny's final work was not done in vain. She is greater than my own personal desires for vengeance. To not attempt the spell would be a disservice to her death and her memory. So, here we are. Willow is researching the last bit for the spell, and once she is ready, I shall aid her in casting it.

I admit that I am wary of Willow performing such dark magicks. The Black Arts can be a tricky business, even when using them for good. It will be her first real taste of magicks, and from what I recall of my own experience, there is a particular headiness one feels. The power is intoxicating. A decade ago, and I'd have been able to perform this spell myself, but ever since Randall's death, I blocked myself from experimenting with any and all magicks. My Great-Aunts mourned my break from magicks, of course. They saw when I was quite a young boy that I had a natural affinity and gift for them. They encouraged my dabbling . . . and it's likely the reason why my father decided to start my Watcher training so early. But after Randall's death, I swore to never use magicks again. I've blocked that part of me. I don't know if I can ever unblock it, or if I did, if there would be any natural magicks still there . . . but I do know that I don't ever wish to try. I turned my back on magicks, particularly the Black Arts, long ago. I just hope Willow will be smart about this. Though I have always appreciated her inquisitive mind, there is a saying, 'curiosity killed the cat' for a reason.

Time is pressing upon us as well. The tomb of the demon Acathla has been discovered. I did not suspect as such when I first called in by one Doug Perren to investigate an old relic that had recently been discovered. It was large, and it looked to be a container of some sort. I wasn't sure what might be inside, though I suspected it was likely evil in nature. I had intended to translate the inscription that had been etched and uncovered on the container, but by the time I read that it was the tomb of Acathla, the museum had already been attacked. Angelus has taken the tomb, and the curator, Doug Perren, has been murdered.

Acathla is a far greater concern than Angelus. One of the Greater Demons in the hierarchy, he was made to swallow the earth whole. More precisely, with a single breath, he'd create a vortex into another hell dimension. No one knows precisely what hell dimension as there are numerous ones, but one can rest assured that it will be unpleasant. This vortex would suck everything on earth into the dimension, and everything that isn't a demon would be subjected to eternal torment. Acathla was unleashed upon the world centuries ago, but a virtuous knight—some believe Percival, but I rather think this was far before his time—struck a sword through the demon's heart. Acathla turned to stone and was encased in a tomb and hidden from the eyes of man and demon since then.

Until, of course, we meddlesome humans discovered it and brought it out of its hiding place. It rather figures that Acathla would be buried here, in the bloody hellmouth. I wouldn't be surprised if Lucifer's summer home was just down the street.

We have two blessings in this fight, thankfully. One, it will take Angelus some time to figure out how to free Acathla from his stone state. This gives us enough time to attempt the Restoration Spell and put together a battle plan to keep the rest of the vampires away from Acathla. If Angel returns to us, he will be a key element in that. Second, Kendra has returned to us. Her Watcher felt the dark surge of evil—Acathla—and sent her here right away. I must say, it's lovely to have her back with us. Two Slayers once more. I noticed that Kendra appears to be more relaxed as well. She's wearing a leather jacket, for one. I call that a direct influence from Buffy.

I shall write more at a later time. Willow needs some assistance with translations.

* * *

Buffy has gone missing.

It's been a month now since Acathla was stopped—or better put, Angel was stopped. I have only just sat down to write, here on the last day of school, due to a lack of time and opportunity. There's much to be said about the events that occurred a month ago. Another warning, the hand-writing is not the best, because I am attempting to write with my right hand. The fingers on my left are still broken from my time of torture and interrogation, and so I still cannot grip my pen with my left hand. It's clear that I need to work my right hand out a tad more, as my hand is already cramping out from holding the bloody pen.

Yes, I was tortured. While Willow performed the Restoration Spell, we were attacked in the library by a small horde of vampires. Though I fought the best I could, without weapons or stakes, we were helpless. Kendra fought them off valiantly, but there were so many. I was knocked out before I saw Kendra fall, but according to Xander, it was Drusilla who came and claimed the Slayer's life. I suppose my words from so long ago ended up being prophetic when I said Buffy would survive longer than Kendra. The poor girl. And so the fate of all Slayers has claimed its next Chosen One. I pray that she finds rest and happiness at last.

When I awoke, I found myself alone and without the others. It was only after we all met up again that I was able to learn all that had happened. Willow had received quite the head trauma from the fight in the library, but she had woken and continued to cast the Restoration Spell. Cordelia managed to escape, and so was unharmed. Xander broke a wrist during the fight, and it was he who came to my rescue. And myself . . . Yes, I awoke without the others, but in the presence of Angelus himself. He made it abundantly clear that I had nothing ahead of me but agony and death.

I feel it should be noted that this is not the first time I've been tortured and interrogated. A barbaric procedure in the Watcher Academy is a lesson of pain tolerance. We, as Watchers, hold many secrets. We have to be able to defend them against any enemy. So, for about a week, the Senior Watcher instructors interrogate us, testing our will and honing our tolerance for pain. Some of us break. Others are strengthened by it. I fell into the latter category. Angelus began with the usual. Fist-work. A punch here, a punch there. What he wanted from me was the key to freeing Acathla. As I had expected, Angelus had not performed the ritual correctly, and was unaware that he, in fact, was the key.

I kept my secret. Even when he started breaking my fingers.

I did not account for emotional torture. The physical, I could have withstood until my body eventually died from it. But then Drusilla came and reached into my mind . . . I felt her there briefly . . . a dark stain in my psyche, like I had been violated. The next bit is a tad fuzzy . . . but I remember opening my eyes and seeing . . . Jenny. Alive. I smelled her and felt her warmth. She promised such sweet things to me. Deep down, I knew this wasn't Jenny, that she was dead. But I found myself telling her that we needed to keep Angel's blood from Acathla . . . and that was it. Angel had his answer. For this treachery, I was rewarded a kiss . . . but when I opened my eyes, I saw Drusilla. She had deceived me. I hated her in that moment . . . that she had worn Jenny's guise, pretended to be Jenny.

As I said, the physical I could have tolerated. Jenny . . . Jenny, I am helpless against.

They left me after this. I was in-and-out during this time. I expected at any moment to either die or find myself in a whole new Hell. The pain was extraordinary. Whenever I blacked out, it would jog me back to consciousness. It was during one of these lucid moments that Xander came to me. I thought he was just another figment of his imagination, something I was hoping to see . . . in which Xander quickly pointed out that if I wanted someone to rescue me, why would I ever choose Xander? He had a moment of absolute intelligence. Rare, I know.

He untied me from my chair and half-carried me out of the building. I lost consciousness shortly after and only awoke once I was in hospital. They took good care of me there. Willow was still in a room there, and I popped in to see how she was. She looked quite battered, but she was coherent. More than that, she was adamant that she had performed Restoration Spell successfully, that she had felt something pass through her.

We haven't been able to confirm this. Both Angel and Buffy have been missing since that night. I called Mrs. Summers a few days after Buffy's disappearance, and she told me Buffy had left her a letter of farewell. She didn't know where Buffy had gone . . . only that she had gone. I never doubted that Buffy lived. I'd feel it if she hadn't. However, her continued absence causes me concern. Willow, ever the optimist, continues to think that she ran away with Angel. I have an inkling of the opposite. I think she was forced to kill Angel. Whether because she had to stop Acathla or because the spell had not worked, I am uncertain, but I think she killed him.

She killed the boy she loved. Duty or not, it was the hardest thing she has ever faced. I can't imagine the pain she is feeling. I know after Randall was killed, I was unable to look at myself in the mirror for weeks. All I could see was a murderer. Buffy likely sees something far worse. Oh, my poor Slayer. I hope you haven't lost your way.

The summertime is upon us now. Vampire activity has significantly decreased since Buffy's disappearance. I don't know how long it will last, but I hope Buffy will return soon.

She can't have abandoned us here.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	34. Summer '98

What a dull summer.

Truly, it is as if this part of California is its own version of Hell. The weather never changes. Hot, sunny and dry. God, it's the complete opposite of England. It's in the dregs of these awful summers that I miss home the most. The rains, the temperate climate . . . lush green. I would have visited England this summer to check on my homes in Bath, Devon, Westbury as well as London. However, since Buffy has yet to return to Sunnydale, I thought it best to remain close at hand. The vampires have started to poke their heads out from their graves once more. In Buffy's absence, Willow and Xander—as well as our new comrade-in-arms Oz—has taken on the duty in Slaying.

I'll admit I'm a little concerned, since they don't have Buffy watching their backs. Thus far, they've proven to be cautious and smart in their patrols though. They work as a team, which is rather needed considering none of them have Slayer strength. When they made it clear to me that they intended to keep Slaying throughout the summer, I had them report in at my home for some light training. It was the least I could do, after all, and I'd really rather not see them all hurt. No, not even Xander.

The training was light, as I described. Simple martial arts techniques, defensive positions, accuracy honing and whatnot. If this occurs again next summer, however, I'm going to suggest holding the training sessions at another location. Between Xander and Oz, they ate through my entire food stock. As a snacker, and paramour of food, I was highly irked. Despite this, I believe they have some better preparation for when they go into battle. At least, I hope. Training civilians is a bit different than training a Slayer. For one, far more patience is required. Second, I have to set the initial training bar quite low, due to their normal physiques. I miss training Buffy. **None of them could knock me on my arse like she could.**

Besides training, I spent some time visiting Jenny's grave as well. Not every day, of course. I'm trying to do better about that. But during afternoon tea, I'd take my thermos and spend some time there, reading and relaxing near her. I feel her less and less there. The morbid part of me knows she must be decaying now. Those chocolate eyes long gone. Her teasing mouth dried and rotting away. I don't wish to think of her this way, but when one's life is centered in death . . . it's difficult not to think of the logistics of the thing. I suppose once the horror of knowing that there rests nothing beneath me but bones will eventually keep me from visiting her so often. At least she is perfect in my memory.

A more pleasant topic is the brief stay I had at Laguna Beach. Yes, indeed, I took my pale arse to the beach. The artist community there more than made up for the miserable sunburn I received from the day spent there. I went alone, of course, but there were numerous friendly folk there. It's easily given that I was the palest one there. Rather stuck out like a sore thumb. I swam a few times and read in the sand for the rest, when I wasn't being visited by happy-go-lucky beach bums requesting that I say certain phrases in my accent, of course. I suppose my Union Jack towel rather gave it away. Considering how difficult it is to get sand out of a tweed jacket, however, I don't think I shall ever return.

Summer is essentially over now though. Class resumes tomorrow. I've spent the better part of these two months searching for Buffy. I feel her out there somewhere. I followed a few leads into Northern California where a few groups of vampires had propped up, hoping she might show. She did not. Each time, I've returned to Sunnydale empty-handed. Willow has been trying to keep all our hopes up. Buffy will return when she is ready. I am sure of it. I just wish I could find her first and speak with her. I miss our talks. And I worry for her. If she is in a bad place, I have no way of knowing. I can't properly protect her if I don't even know where she is. Some bloody Watcher I'm turning out to be.

Even if she does show for school tomorrow, Snyder informed me—and the rest of the school staff—that Buffy was expelled at a meeting. Pillock was pretty pleased with himself, too. She can go to the schoolboard, of course. Ask for re-enrollment. I don't see any reason why they would deny her. Her grades may not be in the best form, but she isn't a drug abuser or starting school fights either. This also relies on the fact that she even shows tomorrow. I hope she does.

I miss my Slayer.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	35. Anne

Another school year has begun, and as before, the library is swamped.

It's as if the kids don't realize they can come to school a week prior to the start of class and pick up their required texts. I'm not just sitting in the library sweating because they haven't turned the air conditioning on yet, for nothing! Perhaps it's just their aversion to education. They don't wish to come near the place until absolutely necessary. Whatever it is, once again, I was slammed the first day of school. It's odd though.

Usually, once school ends, I put all my librarian duties to the side and become the Watcher. Without Buffy here, I find myself focusing solely on index cards and computer entry . . . thing. Whatever it is that Snyder has ordered me to do with this confounded machine. In theory, I'm supposed to continue entering in information on the books in the library, so that students can search the computer and see if it is available or not. What a waste of table space! Clearly, they could just ask me or check the buggered shelves themselves! It doesn't require a genius-level intellect to see if a book is in stock. Just gotta see if there's a bloody gap where it ought to be. Pointless.

Oh, forgive my irritation. It's been a trying day. A friend of mine in Oakland called me with a possible lead on Buffy, but it proved fruitless. The supposed vampires that were there weren't even vampires. Just teenagers who enjoyed caking on makeup and listening to music with inane screaming. Every lead I've had has turned up nothing. The world is big, but there's only so far Buffy could have gone. She's a teenaged girl with hardly any money to her name. She must be in California somewhere, I swear it.

Mrs. Summers, Joyce, put me in a rather foul mood, too. When I visited her to inform her that the lead was a bust, she informed me under no uncertain terms that Buffy's leaving was my fault. Mind-boggling! She claimed that I had a huge influence on Buffy and had a secret relationship with her behind her back, and that I, essentially, took Buffy from her. As if _I_ were the one who picked Buffy for this destiny. Joyce doesn't realize that I was thrust into this life just as much as Buffy was. Neither of us chose it. Neither of us wanted it. I suppose I've never considered the fact that I did have some sort of relationship with Buffy without her knowing. But that was simply because Joyce wasn't supposed to know. I'm a part of Buffy's secret life.

Have I stolen her from Joyce though? It's true that I understand Buffy more than her mother does at this point. What she's going through, her fears and joys. I care for Buffy and would protect her with my life. Much as any . . . hmm. Much as any parent would. I just want to see Buffy back safely. Joyce is her mother and can monopolize her time as much she wants. All I need is to see that Buffy is safe.

Just be safe.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	36. Dead Man's Party

Buffy has returned home, and with her, a case of the zombies.

The two are not exactly causal. Her mother is to blame more than anything. But more on that later. First and foremost, I must officially dictate that Buffy Summers has resumed her destiny as the Chosen One. She returned late two nights ago and came to my door with the gang. Leave it to Xander, of course, to ruin a perfectly good moment of reunion and connection with a non-witty remark. All the same, I invited them in for tea. I could sense there was some . . . disconnect . . . between Buffy and her friends. It's to be expected. She caused them all a great deal of stress and worry. None more so than I, I might add. There's likely some resentment . . . some anger towards her. Words need to be shared, likely some tears shed, and then a whole lot of hugging, as Americans like to do, and then all will be well.

For myself, I am simply relieved to see Buffy unharmed and well. She is a tad skinnier though. Wherever she was, it looks as though food was a tad scarce. I'm sure Joyce noticed it as well and has launched a crusade to rectify that immediately. I do not share the disconnect that Buffy and her friends are feeling. My relationship with the Slayer has, by its very nature, been strong. Ever since there have been Watchers and Slayers working together, the relationships between the two have been strong and unyielding. After all, no one understands the other more. I know exactly what Buffy goes through every night. I take care of her afterwards. She, in return, knows the stresses I bear and the restricted lifestyle I've given myself to for her. Some Watchers, of course, are better at remaining distant than others. But it is an agreed upon fact that there exists some sort of metaphysical connection between a Watcher and their Slayer. A Watcher simply _knows_ when his or her Slayer is dead. The pain of this severing of the connection is often so terrible, that retired Watchers—those forced into retirement because of the death of their Slayers—are unable to record the changes they feel when the new Slayer is chosen.

The opposite of this is that they also know when their Slayer is alive. I knew Buffy was alive out there . . . somewhere. What I did not know was her state of physical and emotional well-being. These are things not even my connection will tell me. So, to see her sitting on my sofa, whole and unscathed, was a blessing. **Indeed, I needed a moment away from them all to have a very un-British moment of emotion. The stiff upper lip melted into a smile. But none shall be the wiser.** To speak of Buffy's emotional state, I am yet unsure how much she has healed in her time away. She seems . . . disorientated to me. She is with us, but she can't quite grasp onto anything just yet. She appears, quite frankly, lost. Even after the events of tonight—on which I shall describe soon—Buffy seems as though she's floating through the rest of us. Untouchable. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it. But when I saw Buffy embrace Willow, and I felt the tension among them all start to relax and ebb away . . . I knew I needed to do something—something beyond my station—to help her touch base again.

Which is why I just finished threatening Principal Snyder into revoking Buffy's status of expulsion. Joyce had met with him and attempted to revoke it herself, but Snyder simply gloated them off. As I said, it wasn't exactly my place to press a bit of weight on him, but honestly? . . . The rodent had it coming. He was far too smug and snide about expelling Buffy. I think it genuinely brought him physical pleasure. Revolting. So, I took matters into my own hands. Buffy deserves a break, and if I have to reveal a bit of my old self to make that happen, so be it.

I began with informing him that I could make his life a living Hell, professionally. The Watcher Council holds a lot of power, even across the ocean, and I knew I could convince them into putting pressure on Snyder. Regardless, Snyder didn't seem perturbed. Instead, I switched tactics and slammed him against a filing cabinet instead. Not the wisest decision, considering he's technically my employer, but _damn_ did it feel satisfying. As I expected, Snyder crumbles when one reminds him how small he is and how cowardly. He said he'd revoke the expulsion, and I left him in his office. Pillock.

Now, to the zombies. It began all innocently enough. I received a call from Buffy about a dead cat who was decidedly not dead anymore in their house. So, like a true gentleman, I purchased a cage and came to their rescue. The ghastly thing smelled atrocious and was already decomposing. It's a wonder I managed to grab it at all and didn't simply grab a chunk of flesh and fur right off instead. The cat was extremely poor-tempered and hissed regularly. Whether this was simply the cat's nature pre-death, or the result of whatever it was that had reanimated it, I wasn't sure. I took the cat to the library to conduct some research. My poor library. I do so hope the awful smell goes away soon. I think it's clinging to the table the cat was set on. I just might have to get a new one.

Whilst I primarily researched means that might bring an animal back to life, the others—Oz, Willow, Xander and Cordelia—were discussing the dinner party Joyce and Buffy had invited us to. For whatever reason, they thought having a . . . "hootenanny" . . . was the correct form of party to welcome Buffy back home. I politely disagreed. Noise and shallow celebration were not what Buffy needed. Surprise to no one, I was correct, for the record. When will they ever listen to me?

By the way, I looked up "hootenanny" in the English dictionary, and it clearly states that it is an informal gathering with folk music. Folk music, Oz. The last I heard, your band was not folk. Next time, I suggest you're more accurate in your descriptions of parties.

Whilst the others went off to this "hootenanny" **even though it's not really a hootenanny,** I continued to search for an answer to our little cat riddle. I discovered that it was **all Joyce's fault. Who's to blame for Buffy's troubles now!?** a mask that Joyce had purchased for her art gallery. This mask held a zombie demon within it, one named Ovu Mobani, or The Evil Eye. His crusade, as with most demons, was the destruction of all life on Earth. The mask he wore—and which he was bound to by an unnamed Exorcist—was capable of producing Medusa-like effects. If his victim looked him in the eyes, he was able to paralyze them for a few moments, in which he could dispatch them. Unfortunately, the Exorcism which trapped the demon in the mask did not all-together end his power. When the mask was hung on the wall of Buffy's home, it activated the mask and allowed it to reanimate the dead. Hence, zombies. The zombies were all called to the mask, and whoever wore it, would become the demon incarnate, and Obu Mobani could continue his crusade of death.

As soon as I discovered this, I ran to my car and rushed off to the Summers' residence. On the way, I hit a man. Terrified that I had just killed someone, I hurried out and realized it had been a zombie. This zombie was not alone either. Before I knew it, I was attacked by a small pack. I managed to fight them off and return to my car, but in the struggle, my keys had fallen out of my pockets. I suppose this was one of the few moments where I was grateful for my past as Ripper. In my youth, I delighted in hotwiring cars and taking off for pleasurable joyrides for a few days. I always returned the car, of course, though sometimes not for a week. Still, the method of hotwiring remained ingrained in my mind, and I was able to start my car sans keys and drove off.

I found Buffy's home in tatters. The zombies had swarmed and done a bang-up job of destroying the place. I was nearly skewered to death by Cordelia and Oz, but together, we fought off another zombie. Buffy killed Mobani properly, and the zombies disappeared. I don't know why they disappeared, but they did. The cat did as well, I noticed, when I checked on it in the library after the attack. Perhaps because they were linked to the mask, when Mobani was destroyed, they . . . ceased to exist in this plane as well? No. Ah well. I shall leave the matter to rest for now. It's been a long night, and instead of eating the dinner I was so looking forward to at Buffy's, I've only just finished helping them put it back into order. I'm famished.

Before I end this entry, however, I really feel I must touch on the idiocy displayed tonight. This isn't simply directed at Joyce either. It's to be shared by many. **Though, particularly, Americans.** Hanging up an ancient relic simply because it looks "cool" or "neat" or "pretty" is extremely unwise. I know that, for whatever reason, there seems to be a general aversion to history here in the **Colonies** States, but that does not mean one should be an imbecile and not check into this ancient relic to ensure that it does not carry any curses with it. A simple cleansing with sage is usually enough to dispel any dormant evil tied to the artefact. We are lucky in that raising the dead is the only thing this mask was able to do, and that Buffy was here to destroy it. It could have been worse. So, should anyone read these pages, I beseech you to check into the history of an ancient item before removing it from its containment apparatus. It just might save your life and many others. Don't simply hang it up without thought to the consequences because it "matches the décor" or "makes one appear artsy." Please, let us not be so trite.

Perform research first. It can save lives.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	37. Faith, Hope and Trick

It would seem that, once more, I have been overlooked for an invitation to the Annual Watcher's Retreat.

I wasn't even aware that it was that time of the year until the new Slayer arrived in Sunnydale. Her name is Faith, and she was Called, as one can imagine, after Kendra's death. Diana Dormer was chosen to go forth and become Faith's Watcher. I never had much contact with Diana, as she rather stuck around the more seasoned Watchers, while I was still quite green. From all accounts, however, she was a capable Watcher. She knew her stuff and was devote to the cause. This was evident when Faith admitted that her Watcher had been killed by Kakistos. As if often the case with Watchers, we put our Slayers before ourselves. Though Faith wasn't keen on the details, knowing the sort of caliber of Watcher that Diana was, I've a feeling that she maneuvered herself into a position that allowed Faith to escape Kakistos, though the cost was her own life. As with all Watchers who fall in the line of duty, she shall be remembered and recorded into the histories with the greatest respect and honors.

Kakistos decided to follow Faith here to Sunnydale. He is a vampire known to many, someone I even studied at the Academy. He's ancient. So ancient, he likely lived about the same time the Master did. However, Kakistos' appearance altered differently from the Master's, who was trapped underground. His hands and feet were cloven, and his name itself is Greek which translate to, "worst of the worst." His brutality and savagery were so legendary, that it is said that his visage has permanently taken its demon form. Whatever man he used to be, he lost long, long ago. It was this sort of beast that followed Faith to Sunnydale . . . and so challenged my Buffy as well.

Though Buffy intimated to me that Faith had suffered some obvious emotional trauma over watching her Watcher be slain and tortured before her, it was Faith who struck the killing blow. Kakistos was such an old vampire, that a normal stake hardly pierced deep enough in his chest. Faith, luckily, found a large wooden post that had splintered off and staked him with that. Kakistos turned to ash, and that is another legendary vampire now officially part of the history books instead of the school yearbook.

Faith, herself, is far different from Kendra. Where Kendra was grave and studious, Faith is lively and full of zest. She has embraced her Slayer destiny quite willingly and seems to find genuine enjoyment in fighting evil. It's clear that she doesn't have much of a life outside of it, though she seems open to connecting with Buffy's friends. As for Buffy herself, she made it quite clear that she's edgy about Faith. Apparently, on their patrol preceding Kakistos, Faith was too busy enjoying beating the vampire into mush than watching Buffy's back. I think there's more to it, of course. Buffy, like myself, is an only child. She doesn't know how to share the spotlight or her friends or space. After Faith Slayed Kakistos, Buffy seems to be more receptive towards her, and I can only hope that the two find friendship one another.

They are the Slayers. Since Faith is going to be staying in Sunnydale for the foreseeable future, and I am to be her Stand-in-Watcher until her new one arrives, I hope the two can find some common ground. I've been designing some new training techniques that requires the work of two as one, in the hopes that I can get them working together—complimenting one another's moves and compensating for one another's weaknesses. With these two, there is great potential of creating a small, formidable army. And with Faith's presence, a schedule can be formed, allowing Buffy that social time off she's always so desperately desired.

On the matter of Buffy's recovery from the night of Angel's death, I've finally succeeded in acquiring my answer. I've been struggling to figure out a way to ask Buffy if Angel had received his soul when she had killed him, for I believe that if he had, it is likely the reason that Buffy has been closed off in some ways still. I told her I needed to know detailed information about the fight, as I was making a binding spell to ensure that Acathla remained dormant. It took some time and gentle prodding, but she eventually admitted—really, of her own accord—that Angel had recovered his soul. She said that she had kissed him, expressed her love, and then killed him to close the vortex. I'd been suspicious that this was the case. I'm relieved to add that Buffy claimed that she felt after admitting it. My entire goal in wrenching this secret from her was to help her to heal and move on. I suppose only the coming days will tell me if I was right in this or not.

Willow was hounding me about aiding with the binding spell the entire time, too. I was—and am—slightly put off-guard by her eagerness to learn more. The forces can be extremely dangerous if tampered with incorrectly. I warned her to be mindful, and I hope she heeds my warning. Willow is a bright girl, and there's a goodness in her heart quite unique in the human population. I'd hate for her to unknowingly sacrifice something of herself in the pursuit of knowledge. Also, she claimed that I cluck my tongue when I'm mad. I don't do that. Surely.

Though if I did, I'd be clucking up a mess at the Council right about now. This is the third time—on active duty, that is—that I have been passed over an invitation to the Retreat. I'm the one in the field. If there's any Watcher who deserves a bit of a respite, it's me. They won't get any complaints from me though. I'm sure that's what they want. So, I shall do what I do every year and throw my letter of complaint into the fire as soon as I get home. It's a pity this time. I ended it with a rather cheeky poem. It's just that the Retreat is such a wonderful experience. It's held in The Cotswolds, for one, easily one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. There's a reason so many composers and poets found inspiration for some of their greatest works there.

And the other activities! Horse riding, hiking, punting, kayaking, some wonderful lectures and discussions. And the food! Some of the finest British dining one will ever experience! The history there is wonderful, too. Old manors and churches and castles. One day, perhaps.

If they ever stop being ponces.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	38. Beauty and the Beasts

Once more, I have been shot in the arse.

The culprit behind the shooting was none other than my own Slayer. Cruel, cruel betrayal! I suppose it wasn't entirely her fault. Her aim had been knocked to the side, shooting me instead of Oz the Werewolf. Still. She couldn't have aimed for something a little higher? I find myself, once more, unable to sit for the next few days. Though it was with a tranquilizer dart this time, instead of a crossbow bolt, the tip is quite sharp, and my tweed did little to soften the puncture this time.

Not that I have much to sit on, anyway. A great deal of the library has been destroyed. We had a bit of a domestic scare when a student was found mauled to death during the full moon. The fear was further increased when Xander, the moron, admitted that he had fallen asleep during his shift of watching over Oz. The window had been open, and it seemed extremely plausible that Oz had committed the murder. It is this sort of ordeal that truly complicates matters of lycanthropy. How are we to provide justice to the victims when their murderers are, arguably enough, innocent of the crime? Oz expressed a great deal of guilt and terror at the thought of possibly having killed someone. How could we persecute him?

He is not, by choice, a monster. This reminds me of the conversation I had with Buffy after finding her in the library the next morning. Faith was supposed to have been the one watching Oz, but she must have switched shifts. It is not often that I find Buffy asleep in the library, and so I wondered as to why she was truly there. Around her were scattered a few curious selections of reading materials. _Exploring Demon Dimensions_ and _The Mystery of Acathla_ to name a few. She explained that she had received a vivid dream about Angel returning from whatever hell dimension he had been taken to. This doesn't seem entirely out of place to me. Her conscience is clearly still wrestling with having taken Angel's life. I tried to soothe her by telling her of my own dreams of Jenny, in which she was alive, because I had saved her. Such dreams are common.

Her inquiry was puzzling though. She seemed adamant about knowing if someone could escape a hell dimension. As I said to her, there isn't any record of anyone ever escaping a hell dimension, especially Acathla's domain, where I believe Angel was likely sent. Even still, a being who managed to escape would be but a shadow of him or herself after centuries of torture. Some part of us, even as humans, reverts to a primal state of thinking when we've been put under too much stress or pain. To survive, our mind reverts back to the beast. It's the only way it can handle such agony.

All of this led, of course, to my categorization of monsters. There are two types. There is the first who can and wants to be redeemed. Oz falls into category, as I'm sure, most werewolves do. I fall into this category as well. The second are those who are entirely void of humanity. They cannot respond to reason or love or empathy. For the most part, vampires and the demons we have faced fall into this category. As would the individual who was responsible for the death of the student, the school counselor Platt, and Debbie. His name was Pete.

It was because of Pete's savage murder of Platt during the day, that we knew Oz was innocent of the murders. The hunt then began for the true creature behind the carnage. There was only one thing that linked the two murders, and that was Debbie, a student here at Sunnydale. Buffy had the foresight to suggest that it was likely Debbie's boyfriend, Pete, who was acting out punishment. She was proven to be correct. We found Pete, quite transformed into some claw-bearing creature, attacking Oz in werewolf form.

At this point, Buffy shot me in the arse, so I'm not privy to exactly what occurred. I remember stumbling to the ground and passing out as soon as I hit the floor. I do recall being quite cross as well. My mood did not improve when I woke to find myself in the same position, which caused quite an ache in the neck. No one had thought to move me into a more comfortable position. Rather rude. When I stirred, they finally remembered me, and Willow came to my aid, helping me up. Oz was back in his cage, the door fixed by Xander.

My poor library has been more-or-less destroyed though. Shelves, tables, chairs. All of it lay in pieces everywhere. And the books! I suppose if I'm grateful for anything, it's that the books were unharmed, despite having been wrenched from their proper places. So, since waking, I've put a bandage on my wound along with a warm pack, and I've been cleaning the library. I'll need to order three new shelves, a table and five chairs. Which means I need to speak to Snyder. Ugh, disgusting. He'll probably enjoy dangling the school budget over my head to repay me for my rough persuasion.

I really need to look into some sort of armor for my posterior end.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	39. Homecoming

Here I was thinking campaigns to takeover kingdoms and claim the crown were vicious; little did I know that the race for Homecoming Queen was ten-parts more brutal and full of betrayal.

Indeed, this week has been all about the Seniors of Sunnydale. Class pictures were taken, and at the end of the week—or rather, tomorrow night—Homecoming is occurring. It is a tradition in the States to have some sort of dance during the American football season. I recall a few balls during my schooling, but nothing quite like this. Apparently, there is a Homecoming King and Queen elected by the student body. I'm not entirely sure what they win, but they're given a crown or tiara and . . . flowers? I have no idea if they have any actual duties. I'm sure if they were aware of the pressures put on actual Queens and Kings, they wouldn't be so keen on wearing the crown.

Still, that has not kept Buffy and Cordelia from becoming Queen Elizabeth the First and Mary the First, Queen of Scots . . . respectfully, of course. Buffy is much more like Queen Elizabeth the First, barring the obsession with boys, of course. Call me biased, but she is also the one true Queen to the . . . err . . . Homecoming Throne. As an employee of the school, I am unable to vote. That did not, of course, keep me from doing so, anyway. Cordelia did try to win my support through snacks that were quite difficult to decline. At least Buffy gave me numerous chocolate cupcakes afterwards. It would seem I can be easily conquered through my stomach.

Buffy's insistence on becoming Homecoming Queen has puzzled me, however. She is lucky that we have not had any "Big Bads" roaming about lately, or else I might have had to dissuade her from this frivolous waste of time. She's quite earnest about it. She even held a meeting in the library with a whiteboard and everything, dictating tasks to everyone for her campaign. Again, this is where the betrayal part comes in. Apparently, the others had already been recruited by Cordelia to her cause. Xander, I would have expected this from. A man can't easily go against the woman he holds affections towards. We like to think ourselves capable of independent thought, but the truth of the matter is we are ruled by women. Any man who denies this is lying to himself, or hasn't felt the true calling of love. Or maybe I'm just too soft-hearted for my own good in regards to those I care for. Likely.

At any rate, this battle for Homecoming Queen is quite intense. Such bribery and passive-aggressive threats. Perhaps I'm rather relieved that I am technically just a by-stander in this war. My vote would always go to Buffy, of course, but I've already been tortured enough for this decade, I'd rather not go through it again. Even if it is through sweets and compliments.

There was a rather vocal fight between Cordelia and Buffy earlier today, however, that has the others and myself concerned. They have decided to "lock" Buffy and Cordelia in a limo to work out their differences. I've sanctioned the idea. What began as a silly competition for a tiara has turned into something hurtful and personal. Either they'll be able to work it out, or we'll find nothing but blood and tattered dresses left in the aftermath.

As for myself, I need to run to the tailor's for a final fitting for my own suit. I'm chaperoning the dance, after all.

* * *

Slayerfest '98.

A tad more important than the Homecoming dance, I'd say. Tonight's events turned for the worse shortly after the dance began. I arrived at the party, eager for the finger foods that all of the banners advertising the Homecoming mentioned. I am disappointed to note that the food was abysmal. Cold, unflavored and stale. Whoever was put in charge of the food should be sacked. On another note, Willow and Xander both looked quite dapper. A black dress and a tux. They appeared most adult. It brings me pause to recall that after this year, they'll be off to college. It only seems yesterday that they gathered around me—young and naïve to the world's horrors. Now, they stand at the precipice of adulthood and responsibility. Poor things.

Onto Slayerfest. It began when I retreated into the library to wait the dance out until the coronation was announced. Noticing that someone had left me a phone message, I played it. Buffy was trapped in the woods with Cordelia, and they were under attack. I managed to turn, intending to grab some weapons and make haste to the woods, but I was promptly knocked unconscious. When I came to, it was to find both Buffy and Cordelia in the library. Much to my surprise, Cordelia scolded and threatened a vampire—Gorch, no less—into running for his life.

Though they had escaped most of the bounty hunters after them, there remained two. A pair of Germans with guns. Banal, I know. Buffy displayed cleverness by sticking one of the Germans with the tracking devices planted on their corsages, making them shoot each other. Ingenious. Honestly, that won her the crown right there . . .

. . . but neither Cordelia nor Buffy won Homecoming Queen. The tiara went to two other girls, who ended up tying. I saw Buffy and Cordelia leaving the dance in disgust. I'm disgusted too, honestly.

The finger sandwiches were hardly worth smuggling home.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	40. Band Candy

Yeah, so I guess I'm supposed to write in this stupid little diary thing because I turned into some schoolgirl after going to Watcher School.

Honestly, this thing is so boring. Why don't I just stick some hearts and devil horns in here while I'm at it? At least it'll be a lot more entertaining then. Blah, blah, blah. No one's going to read this bloody thing. But whatever, I'll do my part. Big bad Watcher and all.

Right. So, there was a wicked party on the town tonight. Everyone was out in the streets having a right good time. Honestly, the only thing that could have made it better would have been some rocking music. I should have provided it, but I was too busy with a bird. Naturally. But yeah, there were people racing cars and snogging and just having a right good romp.

Oh! I stole a jacket for Joyce, my bird. She looked cold, and she liked something in this shop, so I broke the glass and got it for her. She liked that. Naughty girls always love a bad boy. Hell, good girls do, too. Deep down. And then this Bobby showed up with a gun, waving it in my face like he was going to shoot me. Ha! Right. I ripped him up a bit and stole his gun. Taught him a lesson. Joyce was practically panting at this point, so we shagged on the copper's car. Twice.

Ummm. Then we snogged. A lot. At some point, Buffy came along and put an end to that. Buffy can be such a codger sometimes. She was adamant that her mum stop eating candy. I don't see why. It was bloody good chocolate. Best I ever had. I insisted that she could have what she wanted, but Buffy stood her ground. I know better than to get into a fight with a Slayer. I know she's capable of.

Which is why I wanted her to make Rayne good and bloody when we found out he was behind . . . whatever it was that was happening. Someone needed to pay off Lurconis with a bunch of babies. Sick, innit? But yeah, we chased Ethan down, and he had quite a flogging coming to him, but Buffy let him go more-or-less unscathed. Disappointing. She's my Slayer, and she didn't even beat up my enemies for me! I really don't like Ethan. He and I parted on bad terms, and he likes to hurt people who don't deserve to be hurt. Which is exactly why I wanted to take him around back and hurt him instead. They call me Ripper for a reason, and Ethan knows it well. A bit of blood, at least. But no. Buffy gave him one good punch in the nose, and that was it. Still, a punch from a Slayer is worth ten punches from a normal person, so I suppose that ought to be good enough.

Ethan did try to whack her upside the head with a crowbar later though. I put a stop to that. Held my gun to his head. Oh, he dropped it real quick, the bloody coward. Before I could kill him, Buffy stopped me. Duuull. But whatever. Ethan gets to see another day. He should count himself lucky he has a Slayer watching his back.

So, let's see. We went to the hospital then because Willow told us over the phone that Lurconis likes to eat babies. Sure enough, all the babies were missing. It was in this moment, where we had no idea where to head next, that I saved the day. Being quite the intelligent bloke, I recalled a saying tied to Lurconis. Something I memorized to help me pass an exam back at Watcher school. Lurconis likes to live in filth. So, he was chumming about in the sewers. This bloke we were with, my boss technically, Snyder wasn't at all eager to go down there. Funny, since he looks like a bloody rat. He'd just be going home. But really, he was just a namby-pamby. I'd have bloodied him, but Buffy stopped me. Again.

I did get to fight in the sewers. There were some vampires down there, and Buffy and I gave them a right good beat down. I ripped up one or two, and she took care of the rest. She's faster, but whatever. I pulled my own weight. I even went after the vampire in charge of the whole thing—Trick, I think his name was—and punched him right in the bloody face. He threw me in the feeding area for Lurconis, and I dragged myself out whilst Buffy set the demon on fire. Trick got away, but it's whatever. We'll get him next time. I look forward to the next scuffle, honestly.

So, that's that. I kicked arse. Buffy kicked arse and kept me from kicking more arse. Joyce did a lot of screaming. Heh. Snyder's a ponce. And we saved the day. Big surprise. I'm the Watcher, after all. How do I end these things? To keep with the diary-style, I'm just gonna go with it. Let's see, before bed, I'm gonna pull my guitar out and have my own rock concert in my house, probably have a good wank, and then hit the hay. I'm knackered. Really knackered . . .

Write more later, tossers!

-Ripper

* * *

Oh god. I'm burning this later. It was the chocolate, I swear. I'm never touching another piece again.

Oh god. I beat up a police officer.

Oh god. I stole.

Oh god. _Joyce._

Excuse me, while I drown in my embarrassment.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	41. Revelations

Once more, the Council has proven that Watchers are not entirely infallible.

Though I could easily be used as the leading example of this, instead I can point to someone who was actually sacked from the Council. Gwendoline Post. We had a run in with her a few days ago, in which she posed as a current member of the Council in order to use our resources in finding a certain Glove of Myhnegon. Mrs. Post had been removed from her duties due to her ever-increasing dabbling in the Dark Arts. Whether she lost her way or always had nefarious plans since joining the Council, I am unsure. When I phoned the Council to report her, they were scarce on the details. They, of course, claimed that a memo had been sent out, but somehow it lost its way over the Atlantic.

Honestly, I'm not entirely surprised that the Council is keen to hush it all up. It prides itself on being morally pure. It has to be, or else corruption will set in, and the world will fall. When there is an embarrassment like Gwendoline Post, the Council enjoys pretending she never existed, to save their reputation from being untarnished. I think they must have been quite desperate for members when they allowed me back in its ranks. Either that, or my father's good reputation with them allowed them to look over my rough past.

Since Gwendoline Post is likely to be removed from all records in the Council, I feel it necessary to record her time with us here. The Council won't like it, but I rather think history should always be known and written down. We must learn from our past mistakes and acknowledge them, not simply cover them up and pretend as though they have never occurred. So, we shall begin with how Mrs. Post came to us.

I was surveying Faith and Buffy Slaying in the graveyard at the time. They were having quite a go at it. Both expressed extreme skill and an odd sort of grace when working together. They had just finished Slaying and were returning to me to receive my critique, when we were interrupted by Mrs. Post, who called them sloppy. After re-assembling at the library, she gave us all a thorough flogging. Indeed, she even had the audacity to suggest that I had become too American.

I've never been so offended in my life. Clearly, my English merits speak for themselves. Just because I don't have a Union Jack hanging up in my office does not mean I've forgotten my country. It's only because of Principal Snyder's silly rules against personal posters and the like decorating the walls. And I most certainly cheer Chelsea on whenever they're playing a match. I take my tea breaks, drink Bovril, celebrate Guy Fawkes Day, uphold my stiff upper lip and play the part of Professor Henry Higgins to a high school filled with Eliza Doolittles. Who **is** was she to come into _my_ library and declare me "becoming too American." Just because I enjoy some of the food, have fully embraced the traditions of Halloween, went to one fireworks display on July 4th and watched one baseball game on the telly does _not_ mean I have gone American-soft.

Clearly, I should have known then that Mrs. Post was evil and devious. Instead, I came to this conclusion when she whacked me twice against the head with one of my primitive statues. I was knocked unconscious, of course, but when I came to, I found it incredibly difficult to move. Luckily, I was able to make some noise, and Xander happened to be close by and heard me. I was taken to the hospital and treated for head trauma. I've actually received a concussion from this bout, and still suffering from it as I write this page, so I've had to be careful. My head is a precious thing to me, I really do wish people would stop targeting it.

After getting me out of the picture, Gwendoline Post went after the Glove of Myhnegon. It was the true purpose as to her visit, and not to be Faith's Watcher, as she had said. She sought the power of the Glove. I discovered that the only way to destroy it would be through living flame, the very thing with which it gains its power. The Glove can be used to harness lightning and manipulate it to suit one's desires. From the accounts Buffy and Willow have given, Mrs. Post was using it to attempt to kill them, shooting lightning at them. They're lucky to be alive. Mrs. Post is not. Buffy severed her arm, removing the Glove. The lightning could not be controlled, and thus destroyed her right into ash. Except for, of course, the arm.

So ends the story of Gwendolyn Post. A lost soul seduced by the promised power of the Dark Arts. Her easy infiltration into our little circle has left me feeling rather uneasy. From here on, I'm going to be checking into the credentials of those who claim to be here to aid us. Faith is taking it quite hard as well. She believed Mrs. Post and fought for her. She even fought Buffy because she believed in what Mrs. Post told her. Buffy is with her now, mending the fences, hopefully. Perhaps I should invite Faith around for tea later. Being used always makes one feel ugly and discarded and valueless afterwards. When her Watcher does arrive, they shall find themselves quite the task in gaining her trust, of that I'm certain.

With Mrs. Post out of the way, we are left with a more pressing concern. During this debacle, Xander discovered Angel. More to that, he discovered Buffy kissing Angel. Apparently, he has been alive for some time. I was reticent in my words to Buffy, but I shall spare no feelings here. I was hurt by her choice to leave me in the dark on this matter. In an objective and detached way, I understand why she kept it a secret. We are selfish when we are in love. However, I thought myself rather more important to her than—apparently—I actually am. Never mind that Angel tortured me for hours. Not just for information either, mind, but because he received pleasure from inflicting harm on me. Never mind that Angel killed the one woman I had dreams of sharing a life with. Never mind that Angel was the scourge of Europe and would have been the same in Sunnydale—and beyond—had he not been stopped.

She chose not to tell me. She blatantly disregarded all of that—all of the pain he had caused me—and kept him a secret. I feel my trust in her has been betrayed. She should have told me. If not for respect for me as her friend and confidante, than as her Watcher. Clearly, she thinks little of both. I've been too soft with her. I've allowed her to get away with too much and do as she likes too often.

It's clear that I need to reevaluate our Watcher and Slayer relationship.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	42. Lover's Walk

It's incredible what some time away in the wilderness will do for the soul.

Though I can hardly say the same for the body. I'm beginning to rethink the merits of retreats. Granted, this is my own version, since I felt I deserved it after the Council left me high and dry. So, here I am, in a little clearing atop a hill in Breaker's Woods, freezing my arse off. Perhaps not exactly freezing, but it's chilly. I didn't pack enough blankets. I also made the foolish decision of showing up the Council by choosing to retire in a tent . . . instead of a manor. I don't think my back shall ever recover from sleeping on that blasted tiny pebble. How could something so small do so much damage?

Besides my physical weariness, I am enjoying the solitude. There is something about being isolated from the world that aids one putting things into perspective. I felt the need to get away and reflect after the resurgence of Angel and Buffy's wounding me. This time away has also allowed me to finger through some of my past entries and recount the adventures I've shared with my Slayer and her friends. So much has happened in three years. I've seen the three of them grow.

Before I left, Buffy showed me her SAT results. She received an outstanding score. To say I was proud would be an understatement. Even with the wrench in my trust in her, her achievements always bring me great joy. I suppose, on the matter of Angel, I need to remember that though she is becoming older . . . she is still quite young. Especially in regards to romance. A person's age does not always match a person's maturity. And a person's maturity does not always match a person's emotional maturity. Buffy is mature for her age. The life she leads requires her to be. But in regards to emotional maturity, she is still quite young and underdeveloped. She hasn't had enough experiences. I'm likely to blame for that. I always insisted she resist the need for romantic entanglements. Regardless, her judgment in Angel is fuzzy. I cannot fault her for it. Though I am still hurt over her decision to leave me in the dark, I must lick my wounds and move on from it. It will likely require me to distance myself emotionally from her, so that I may be a better Watcher. In this matter, I have always known I've lacked.

With her eighteenth birthday approaching in a few weeks, I must ensure that I am prepared to test her completely. I must be a Watcher in not just name, but duty and principle and belief. Even now, even with Buffy's own break of trust, I feel uneasy by the oncoming Cruciamentum. It will require me to deceive her. If I can be the Watcher I am supposed to be, it shouldn't be a problem. Father wouldn't have hesitated.

Buffy's SAT scores have opened up numerous doors to her. Those doors connected to buildings of higher education, that is. Truly, she could go anywhere she wanted. Along with a written reference from me, she could even squeeze herself into Oxford if she truly wanted it. Buffy faces something she didn't think she'd have—a future. With Faith here to takeover her duties whilst she's away at school, I don't see why Buffy can't. I'd remain at Sunnydale and aid Faith in the battles against evil. After all, Sunnydale remains a hellmouth. Someone must always be present to ensure all Hell does not break loose. When Buffy completed her studies, whatever it is she chooses to study, she can decide where to go from there.

I'll miss being her Watcher, of course, in practice. But Buffy has always wanted more than just what her destiny allows her. This is her chance. As her friend, it would be wrong of me to discourage her. I want her to have more in this life than just the dark and those that inhabit it. Though my feelings as a Watcher and as her friend conflict, that I am facing this sort of issue is a treasure in itself. Not many Slayers reach the end of high school. I am lucky.

Though, I think I've had my fill of reflection for a time. I'm cutting my trip early and heading back to Sunnydale tomorrow. I'm sure there will be nothing to report from the others when I see them.

-Rupert Giles

1998

* * *

Cordelia almost died.

Xander and Willow were snogging, and both Cordelia and Oz are upset.

Spike returned to Sunnydale to make a love potion for Drusilla and nearly destroyed the Magic Box in the process.

I am never going on another retreat again.


	43. The Wish

-Sunnydale: December 8th, 1998

The forces of darkness continue to swell with numbers every day. Ever since the Master rose to power, our numbers have dwindled. The school becomes barren more and more every morning. Fewer faces in the classroom and in the hall. Sunnydale has become a ghost town once the sun sets. The terror here is palpable and constant. How could things have gone so wrong? Why has the Council abandoned Sunnydale to the dark?

I know now that I shall die here. I began this journal as my duty to the Council, but now it shall serve as my last thoughts. If someone should find it once this town has been razed and pillaged, I hope they will discover that the town did not surrender without a fight. I have seen good people fight for their right to live every night. Some make it, and some perish. The situation is becoming more desperate. I know any day might be last. For posterity, I will record here all that has happened in Sunnydale since I arrived in the summer of '96.

At the time, the new Slayer had just been Called. The Council deliberated on where to send her, and to whom. I had performed some research on the area and discovered that Sunnydale sat atop a hellmouth. To my surprise and panic, the Slayer—known as Buffy Summers—was sent to Cleveland instead. I was told to remain in Sunnydale and report on the mystical activity. It began slowly, at first. A vampire attack here . . . a vampire attack there. I Slayed a few, relying on my training.

And then the Master rose. He must have been working in the shadows, for one night, hell truly broke loose. There was a massacre in town. Dozens were slain and turned. From there, everything spiraled. More were taken every night. Some were simply killed, others joined the increasing number of vampires. A coalition formed of students determined to protect one another and save their town. It was headed by Oz and myself. The other members included Larry Blaisdell and Nancy. I am sad to say that Nancy died earlier tonight while watching the perimeter of the library. She served bravely and was dedicated to helping her fellow man. I hope she finds peace and rest, both of which are well-deserved.

With our little rag-tag team, we have attempted to save those who were either dragged or tricked or simply caught outside in the night, attacked by vampires. Oz, thankfully, has a sturdy van which has allowed us to maneuver through the streets and swoop in to save the potential victims. Sometimes we make it . . . other times we're too late. We lack resources, and despite my pleas to the Council, they are instead focused on just the Slayer. We are . . . more or less . . . abandoned here. But I will not abandon this town or its people. I am a Watcher. I will protect every life in this town until either my death, or there is no one left to protect.

Tonight, we rescued Cordelia Chase from two of the most cruel vampires in Sunnydale. Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg. They had nearly feasted on her, but we grabbed her and took her back to the library. She said the oddest thing when she awoke. She told me that the world wasn't supposed to be like this, and then mentioned Buffy and my being a Watcher to her. I would have thought she was simply suffering from hysteria due to her attack, but Cordelia—or anyone—never knew of my occupation as a Watcher. I told no one.

Sadly, Cordelia was killed before I could learn more from her. Willow and Xander had followed us to the library. They trapped me in the caged area, and they murdered her right before my eyes. I was helpless to stop her. Funny . . . I always feel helpless these days.

The others arrived, having awoken from their obvious fight against Willow and Xander. They were about to take Cordelia's body to the incinerator when I noticed an odd bauble. After some research, I discovered that the bauble actually belonged to Anyanka, some sort of patron saint for scorned women. It was becoming clear to me that Cordelia had somehow changed our reality with this Anyanka's help.

I've returned home now and have further discovered that in order to change our reality, I must destroy Anyanka's power center. Supposedly, it will revert her back to a mortal woman and end the wish. I have no idea what her power center might be, but I intend to Summon Anyanka and reason with her. The Slayer doesn't think much of my plan. Indeed, Buffy Summers has arrived in Sunnydale. I contacted her Watcher earlier about needing to speak with her. Though he informed me that he had no idea where his Slayer was off to currently, he obviously must have found her, because she was standing in my home not but a short while ago.

The Slayer was quite abrupt and cynical. This is my first time meeting a Slayer, so perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to judge, especially considering the sort of strain they live under. Yet something was unsettling about her. I disliked her. She has a weariness in her eyes. She's tired of this world . . . She'll likely die in it soon. The Slayer has decided she is going to kill the Master while she's here. If she succeeds, I will be glad for it. With the Master's death, the vampires will be leaderless and directionless for a time. It could be an opportune time to strike when they are weak.

Provided, of course, that I cannot find a way to return to the other reality. I must figure out how. The world cannot be this terrible. Good has to triumph over evil.

God help us, for we have been abandoned by all else.

-Rupert Giles

* * *

I've just passed by Cordelia who has been muttering the oddest wishes to herself. I understand that she and Xander have broken up, but some of the revenge plots she's muttering on about seem utterly ghastly. Ah well. Besides a case of teen drama, at least her mutterings are the only thing causing me alarm this week.

Thank goodness Buffy's here to balance out all of the teen drama. I can't imagine what it would be like without her.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	44. Amends

**Author's Note:** I rather missed Thanksgiving, but I come bearing copious amounts of gratitude all the same! So, first of all, thank-you to The Redshirt Who Lived, The Eclectic Bookworm, LunaLikesSimonCats, BooksAreMedicine, marcella369 and randyzoopurple for your motivating replies! They are always a joy to read. For the follow, thank you to: Severus-is-my-man, LittleSpiderWeaver, Tanjamusen and Ibmaian. For the follow AND favorite, thank-you to: MusicFilmRocks, The Redshirt Who Lived, imperialjadefox, and randyzoopurple. And finally, for the favorite, thank-you to: Abby2242, julzbobbibroun and mermaid24581. The support for this fic has been astounding, and I simply cannot say enough how much I appreciate all of the wonderful feedback. Cheers!

* * *

Happy Christmas, dear reader. Or just page, if no one reads these entries. Happy Christmas, all the same.

The hour has just struck twelve, and it is Christmas morning in truth. This has been the longest Christmas Eve of my life. Not even as a boy, have I been up so long before the holiday. I'd pass out at some point in my excitement for Christmas morning. This Christmas Eve, duty has called. Duty in the form of someone I would rather not have seen during the holiday season. Angel.

He rang at my door last night . . . was it last night? It's difficult keeping nights together when you're awake during the transition of night and day. Anyway, he rang and expressed a sincere desperation in needing to speak with me. Honestly, I thought I was doing better in regards to Angel, and how I felt about him. That was a lie. Seeing his face, it brought everything back. The pain—both physical and emotional—that he had forced me through. I saw Jenny's blood on his hands. My blood on his hands. I wanted to do nothing more than slam the door in his bloody face and break a nose in the process. That I didn't speaks highly of my character. **I ought to be given a large present from Santa Claus for that.**

I allowed him entry into my home, but only after I had armed myself with a crossbow. Buffy might think twice about killing him, but I certainly was not. He was contrite and apologetic and ashamed. All very good things to be. But there was an extraordinary lack of him being dead that just kept bothering me. Still, I listened to him. He expressed a need to know why he had returned to Earth, and why he wasn't still in a Hell dimension where he rightfully belonged. Then an odd thing occurred. He started to have some sort of fit, asking me if I could see "her." I have no idea who he was referring to, nor was there anyone else in the room, yet he took off as if he had seen a ghost.

It was an odd affair, and though I begrudged doing it, I started looking up something that might be powerful to steal a demon from Hell and return it to Earth. My research was sluggish, and I didn't really have my full heart in it . . . until Buffy came to me and told me that she had been sharing dreams with Angel. She also expressed that something was wrong with him, and that she couldn't move on from him if she kept visiting his dreams.

How that has even occurred, a person's dream state merging with another's, I can't exactly wrap my mind around. That's an entire research project in itself. I agreed to aid her, and Xander and Willow joined us, coming in during their Christmas Holiday to do so. It was a long day. Exhausting. We went through so many books and spent the entire day in the library. I ordered a pizza for everyone, though I wish I had ordered another box, as Xander ate most of it, and I was still hungry after my share of two slices.

Our research extended into the night. I came across some extremely old letters that mentioned The First and its High Priests known as The Bringers or Harbingers. Little is written about the First, save that it is an ancient evil. Actually, as it is appropriately named, it is the first evil to ever exist. This power would have been able to steal Angel out of Hell, though for what purpose, it is unclear. Especially since it seems to be driving him slowly mad. This would have occurred in Hell, eventually, so I'm unsure why it wanted it to happen here on Earth, unless, of course, the First wanted Angel to revert to Angelus and wreak havoc once more. I warned Buffy that if the First was successful in this plan—if it was, indeed its plan—that she might have to kill him. Again.

I wish I could say I believed she could do it. She had killed him once before, what was a second time? But her killing him the first time has only strengthened her love for him. I hope she can. She hasn't returned yet. She came to my home just awhile ago, and we were working through a few books in my private collection to find a place where the Bringers might worship. The phrase "The Harbingers of Death. Nothing shall grow, above or below" set her off. That was nearly two hours ago now. I hope she's alright. Should the worst have happened, and I wake to find Angelus has returned, I will Slay him myself if I have to.

I loathe him. I can't help but think about Jenny. Without Angelus, we might very well be enjoying Christmas Eve together. I like to think so. I wonder if she'd have decorated the tree with appalling computer-related Christmas ornaments. I wonder if she'd be opposed to singing Christmas Carols. I wonder what sort of Christmas Eve traditions we might have made together. The Holiday season is a difficult one for those who have lost loved ones. All I have is dreams instead of memories with my lost loved one. But I still believe in miracles.

For example, it's snowing outside. Snowing in California! I'd never believe I'd see that. Yet, there it is, falling down quite heavily. It's even collecting on the ground like dreamy clouds. I'm reminded me of my Christmases as a boy with my father. We'd go sledding on a day like this. Then have some hot tea, pull a few Christmas crackers, and I'd play with my new toys whilst father had a quiet afternoon with grandmother or went to work. Honestly though, considering that California has been in the seventies the past week, I have no idea how the snow is sticking.

Clearly, it must be magical snow.

-Rupert Giles

1998


	45. Gingerbread

So, Joyce tried to kill her daughter tonight.

There is something to be said of comparing the human race to a herd of sheep. Sheep, simple-minded and prone to gathering in groups, follow one another despite any sort of instinct to go their own way. Indeed, there have been numerous reports of sheep simply following one another right off of cliffs. They are imprinted at birth to follow their elders, regardless of what they might think. They flock together, believing in safety in numbers. Now, let's examine the case of the goat. In goat herds, there is something called the Herd Queen, in which the dominant female leads the herd and searches for predators before grazing. Goats are also notorious for screaming in a most nettlesome manner. When one goat screams loud enough, examine the Judas Goat for more information, the sheep follow in line.

In the events over the past few days, Joyce Summers has played the part of the Judas Goat. She has shouted and screamed about her particular issue. The population of Sunnydale—primarily the adults with children—have played the part of her sheep. They have heard her call and followed her to the very precipice of murder. Now, I mean no disrespect to Joyce. She was, after all, being manipulated by a powerful demon, but I cannot stress enough the stupidity of the human race in regards to the mentality of the mob.

It is precisely the sort of xenophobic, wiccaphobia that resulted in the dozens of innocent deaths in Salem, Massachusetts, Pendle Hill, North Berwick, Paisley, Scotland, and numerous others. Countless others, in fact. Actually, upon researching the case of Hansel and Gretel, I found an eerily similar story to the case in Paisley, Scotland. An eleven year old girl claimed she had been possessed and pointed fingers at thirty different individuals. Of those thirty, six were hanged and burned for witchcraft. One even committed suicide before they could burn for their "crimes."

The story caught my eye due to the similarity of what occurred here in Sunnydale. A young boy and girl were found dead in the park by Joyce. The horror of the crime took quite a heavy toll on her. Buffy and I searched for those responsible, but my findings—initially—kept returning to the Occult. There was a symbol drawn upon each of their palms. My time away from the Occult was rather noticeable when I did not recognize the symbol immediately as one of protection. Willow eventually brought that to light. This, of course, threw the first suspect out of the window, and we were at a loss.

Our resources had been mostly taken away as well. Joyce started up an organization, "Mothers Opposed to the Occult," or MOO, **rather appropriate when one thinks of my earlier barnyard analogy,** in which they removed all "harmful" Occult-related objects. This included by books. My library was . . . pillaged. It was a terrible experience to watch. I stood, helpless, as rough policemen grabbed my delicate books and manhandled them into crates and bags. They must be treated gently, and instead these Vikings were ripping them from their shelves and tossing them around. I cannot even begin to count how many times my heart broke.

Oh, and how Snyder sneered when he swaggered into my library. How smug, the bastard was! Preening and conceited. The desire to punch him right in the mug was nigh irresistible. But I like my job—when it isn't being invaded by Neanderthals—so I swallowed my anger and outrage. I'll think of something to put him in his place later.

At any rate, I had to resort to using . . . a computer. Yes, I admit it. I was entirely out of resources, so I had no choice but to turn to "modern" technology. I'm sure Jenny was quite proud of me . . . and likely a bit smug, herself. Allow me to say that I have never worked with something more irritating and despondent. Yes, it was even worse than Snyder. For one, it takes forever to type. What would have taken me seconds to write down on a piece of paper, took me at least a full minute to type onto the blasted thing. Then, when I wanted it to do something, it would do something else. And when I wanted it to just do a simple thing, I had to take five extra steps to do the one thing! How is anyone supposed to find delight in that contraption!? It's enough to send one to Bedlam! After locking myself out—entirely the computer's fault—I had Oz takeover. I shall never own a private computer. Ever. People can bloody send me a telegram if they wish to contact me.

So, we were at a rather dead end until Buffy pointed out something. None of us knew anything about the dead children. Not their names, their parents, where they had lived . . . nothing. With this new trajectory in research, we discovered something odd. Fascinating, really. These two children appeared in news reports every fifty years. It was the same story, and the same result. A town would go mad for awhile, persecuting and killing those they deemed guilty of killing the children.

It was then that I had an epiphany. Not all demons feed directly on the human populace. Some receive their nourishment simply by feeding off of humans. In this case, the demon delighted and nourished itself by causing hatred and persecution among its targeted victims. By feeding their victims their greatest fear, they can warp and manipulate those victims into acting in such a manner that they wouldn't have originally. This demon, I discovered, was the one who famously began the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel. Two children, lured to an "evil" witch living in a gingerbread house are nearly eaten by the witch instead. Buffy gave an incorrect recounting of this, stating that the children fled to their village and told the elders about the witch. The witch was then hunted down and killed. That isn't quite how the fairytale goes, but the historical account of it is likely truer to her version than the Brothers Grimm's version.

Realizing that the children were, in fact, a demon, Buffy and I rushed to her home to speak with her mother . . . where we were promptly chloroformed. It was obvious that the demon had fed Joyce just the right amount of fear and thirst for vengeance to follow its orders. The others—again, sheep—followed her lead. I woke to Cordelia slapping me in the face. She'd obviously been at it for some time, as my entire face was aching horribly. Though she claimed that I would—and I quote—"one day wake up in a coma," I must give her some credit. Without Cordelia, I would not have been able to reach Buffy and Willow in time and force the demon into its true visage.

She played an important part in the rescue. Yes, I did say rescue. I rescued Buffy this time. With Cordelia's aid. Whilst she doused out the flames—because Joyce and the others had tied Buffy and Willow to a pyre and were intending to burn them alive—I recited an incantation—in German—that revealed the demon's true form. It was rather hideous. Considering my German is a little rusty, I'm also proud that I managed to pull it off. Buffy impaled it with the stake she had been tied to . . . and everyone felt horrible afterwards.

I expect Joyce will be attempting to make it up to Buffy for a very long time. One does not just try to burn one's daughter alive, after all. I think this serves as a valuable lesson to everyone. Be wary of the mob mentality. It's alright to go against the grain and think contrasting thoughts. More importantly, do not fear or persecute something because one does not understand it. Witchcraft is seldom used for harm. Those who practice it are usually interested in peace and fertility and protection. Without proper research and examination, one shouldn't have a validated opinion of it at all.

Tonight, I'm Buffy's shining knight. A bit higher above on the pedestal than her mother, I daresay. But her birthday is next week . . . her eighteenth birthday. I'm going to have to begin to give her the tranquilizer dosages soon. I must admit, I'm nervous about the whole thing. It's going to test our trust in one another. I'm not entirely sure it will come out for the best.

Those are worries for later still though. Tonight, I have something else to concern myself with. How does one get the smell of chloroform out of tweed?

-Rupert Giles

1999


	46. Helpless

I have begun the injections.

It's a few days before Buffy's eighteenth birthday. The time I've been dreading for months now is finally here. I've ignored it, distracted myself away from thinking about it. Yet, now it's here. And I find myself mixing the proper concoction as described by my written orders sent from the Watcher's Council. One part muscle relaxant, one part adrenal suppressors. Designed to perfectly drain away her Slayer strength and handicap her.

I gave her the first injection last night. Under the guise of studying vibratory stones, I have her stare into a grounding stone, which puts her in a trance, provided visual contact with the stone is not interrupted. She's oblivious to the world in those moments. Oblivious to my . . . treachery. I know it isn't as such. It's part of my duty as her Watcher. Yet it feels and tastes like betrayal. How have the Watchers before me gotten through this? How were they able to look into their Slayer's eye? I've read some of their histories . . . There has always seemed to be some sort of detachment after awhile . . . is it because of this? Is the Cruciamentum designed not just to test the Slayer, but also to keep the Slayer and her Watcher from bonding too strongly? If that is the case, then it succeeds extraordinary well. I won't ever be able to look into her eyes again. Not after this.

She's coming in again for some more training. The injections must continue. I'll report more later.

* * *

Everything has spiraled out of control.

Quentin Travers, the Head of the Council, has been setting up the Cruciamentum in a local boardinghouse called Sunnydale Arms. I've been stopping by there to check in with him and reporting on Buffy's deteriorating strength. I was heading over to do my usual report and try to convince him of putting an end to the Cruciamentum . . . but I found nothing but a gory mess of one of the Watcher's—Hobson, I believe—strewn about the place. The vampire Buffy was to face, Zachary Kralik has broken free and escaped. I've no idea where Travers is now, but I've called the entire thing off.

I told Buffy everything. Dear lord, the look in her eyes when she saw the syringe. Horror . . . disbelief . . . disgust. I've lost her. The most important person in my life, and I've forced her to turn her back on me. And I bloody deserve it, too. I've hated myself quite a handful of times in my life. This is a new sense of hatred . . . This is loathing. I am a despicable human being. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and yet I did it, anyway. I put my faith and loyalty in an out-of-date institution instead of a young girl who only earlier wanted me to take the place of her father at an ice show.

Cordelia interrupted our conversation. Or our heartbreak, to be more accurate. She's taken Buffy home now. But Buffy's final words continue to ring through my head like a distant funeral bell. _I don't know you._ Much like Peter's Denial of Jesus Christ, yet not out of fear of her own life, but of betrayal and deception.

The truth is, I no longer know myself either. What madness seized me to do that to her? To poison Buffy? That isn't the sort of man I was supposed to be, the man I wanted to be or expected to be. I've invalidated the test by telling her about it, but it's too little too late. The deed has already been done. I don't know what I must do to repent and earn back her trust, but I will suffer through every gauntlet to achieve it.

This entire experience reminds me of the very ritual that set me off from the Watcher's Council in the first place. As Watchers-in-Training, my class and I were sent on a similar mission. We were given information on a vampire that we were to kill. It was a group of us to counterbalance our mortal weakness against the strength of a vampire. Quite similar to Buffy's case, my ritual also did not go smoothly. Misinformation was given, and what my classmates and I discovered was not a vampire at all, but a Lorophage demon. I watched it feed off the traumatic memories and experiences of my classmates, driving them mad and killing them in the process. It was feasting on me next, and I relived some of the horrors my training had revealed to me thus far. My father rescued me.

But I should have learned then that the Council is archaic and blind. I walked through life in my Ripper days with this knowledge. Yet my grief over Randall led me with an overwhelming desire to return to its Halls to continue my destiny and training. I chose to accept my role. I believed in the Council and chose to put the experience of the Lorophage behind me as an anomaly. Though I have never been the carbon copy that the other Watchers became, I saw why our traditions were necessary. The tests, the sacrifices, the strain put on Watchers and Slayers.

But then I met Buffy. I shared in her battles. Cleaned the blood from her wounds after those battles. I toughened her and counseled her and watched her struggle both as a student, a daughter and a Slayer. I _saw_ what the Council had lost sight of—that Buffy is still a human. We treat her as a soldier, expect her to act as one, live as one, fight as one. But she isn't. Or, she isn't just a soldier. She's so much more. The Council is wrong.

I've just realized it too late.

I need to get into contact with Travers and tell him that Kralik has escaped. I'll finish this report afterwards.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I was fired today.

I'm not entirely sure what to do with this journal now. Yet, I find myself recording all the same. It won't ever stand with its brothers among the other Watcher Journals. Travers has released me from my duty as Watcher. Buffy shall be receiving instruction from a new Watcher who shall be Chosen and sent to Sunnydale immediately. Travers suggested that I leave Sunnydale completely, but he's daft if he thinks that I'm going to leave Buffy's side.

Our relationship is . . . strained. But Travers rather bluntly forced us to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Well, perhaps not exactly an elephant as it really only hit me in the face after Travers said it. I love Buffy as my own daughter. I see her as mine to protect and help grow. Not in the sense that a Slayer must grow, but as a young woman into adulthood. I've been aware of my fondness for Buffy, of course, but Travers put a name to it. Father. My affection for her is not friendly, but paternal. And it's true. I know the chance of my having children of my own is extremely slim. It's amusing, really, as I never ever really thought about children in any real sense. The thought was a fanciful one when Jenny was in my life. A dream that was far-off and not exactly tangible enough for me to ever consider closely.

Yet, here it is, presented to me so clearly. Buffy is not of my own flesh and blood, but when has that ever stopped adoptive parents from loving their adoptive children with fierce affection? Love is not blood and genetics. Love is loyalty and support and respect and protection. I've injured one—if not all—of those attributes. Though Buffy allowed me to treat her wounds after Travers left us to deal with the fallout, I know we have a long way to go. _I_ have a long way to go. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure where to go from here. I'm grateful that I still have a job as a librarian, or else I'd truly be lost.

But giving up research? Training Buffy? The Occult has always been a part of my life. How do I just turn away from it all? I'm not sure I can. I know I shouldn't bump elbows with her new Watcher, but it's going to be difficult just sitting by, being unable to contribute.

I'm also . . . concerned. Will Buffy like her new Watcher more than me? He'll be coming in all shiny and new and without any infractions. He hasn't betrayed her. I couldn't blame her or begrudge her if she did latch onto her new Watcher. Who am I now? Besides the man who poisoned her? Will she see me as a father figure? Is it even what she wants?

The adage is that time heals all wounds. I don't want time to heal the wound I've given to Buffy. _I_ want to be the one who heals it. Yet, all I can do is be there and hope she comes to me. It begins with her giving me a chance. My loyalty is sworn to her. Without the Council, I have no real purpose to my life anymore . . . except to help Buffy in any way I can. In any way that she will allow me.

I love her, and I must continue to keep her safe. I lost Jenny. I can't lose Buffy, too. I think I understand the hope a parent feels when a child is introduced into his or her family. Despite my mistakes and the scars of my soul, I can raise this child on hopes and dreams and goodness. Though I was a thing of darkness, I can see her walk in the light. Though my path draws ever shorter, hers is full of bends and hills and valleys. I feel my mortality, but I also feel a content understanding that I can pass on whatever goodness remains in my soul to Buffy, and she onto others, and so on and so on. That is how immortality is forged.

But when tomorrow comes and we are face-to-face in the morning light, our secrets and wounds and ugliness exposed to one another, will we be able to withstand it?

I don't know.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	47. The Zeppo

The hellmouth was nearly opened.

Yes, I'm still writing. I have decided that even if I am no longer Buffy's Watcher, someone still needs to record the events of her life, the battles she fights. No longer shackled to the Council, I can say what I like. So, sod the Council. They can ask for this journal, but I'm going to write posthumously in my Will that only Buffy can own this journal. Buffy or the current Slayer. Which _will_ be Buffy, if I have anything to do about it. That, and I highly doubt her Watcher will write nearly as well as myself. He or she doesn't understand where Buffy came from. I highly doubt they'll be able to connect half so well as Buffy and I connected.

Or perhaps I'm a tad hopeful as Buffy and I have been able to reestablish our trust and fondness. Not completely, of course, but she made a lovely remark on my bravery in the fierce battle we fought last night. I'm actually quite a bit banged up from the battle. We all are. Angel received the worst, but I have a rather nasty gash across my face that has been stinging something terrible.

To begin with, I have been continuing to look into rising demon activity and sending Buffy to take them out. I had knowledge of a nest nearby. I believed them to be vampires, and so we equipped ourselves accordingly and set out. They were not vampires. Instead, we found extremely strong and intelligent demons. Xander was injured from the start. Through sheer grit, we eliminated them. Not knowing who or why these demons were here, I began my research.

The Sisterhood of Jhe is what I discovered, an apocalypse cult. Their sole purpose is to find and bring about means to end the world. They obviously heard about the hellmouth and were here to open it. Such a thing would certainly end the world, for if the hellmouth were to open, not just the creature who waits below would enter our world . . . but demons of all kind would flood through. It would take days for the world to fall. It's woefully unprepared for such an attack from the supernatural. Knowing who the demons were and why they were in Sunnydale, I then had to discover when they intended to make their attack.

This was extremely difficult to do, as the Council refuses to take my calls. I've been utterly cut-out despite my choice of remaining in the thick of evil. My disgust with them is ever-increasing. It's one thing to sack someone who's been a loyal and diligent employee, but to abandon them and ignore them to utter peril? Oh, I can hear Travers already, "I told you to leave Sunnydale." I'm not. The battle is here. Whether I'm employed by the Council or not, the right and good thing to do is to continue the fight. If I am to redeem myself, then I must do so here.

Speaking of redemption, I think a large part of that gauge was filled by my sacrifice of jellies. It is not uncommon for us to bring in some sort of snack while we research. Last night, we chose to have donuts. Whenever we have donuts, I personally request that there are jellies. They are my favorite, after all. Well, when I went to take a jelly on my way to contact some spirit guides in aid against the Sisterhood, I discovered that all the jellies had been eaten already. Willow broke and ratted Buffy out. Buffy had eaten three. Three of _my_ jellies. I didn't get upset. I didn't even pout . . . that much. Though we have some ground yet to cover in our rebuilding our relationship and connection, I daresay this has put us a bit more on even ground. Betrayal, indeed.

Anyway, I contacted a spirit guide who told me very little, but it didn't matter in the end, anyway. The Sisterhood decided to attack that very night. They managed to open the hellmouth, and the creature—who I also refer to as the Hellmouth—came forth. It had grown as well. We fought against it valiantly. I wielded an ax and did my very best to chop one of its many appendages off. The Sisterhood we vanquished, though that was a trying feat at best. The Hellmouth even turned on one and ate it. Typical demons.

Though the battle was desperate, we prevailed. I offered myself as bait, and Buffy managed to send it back from whence it came. The hellmouth was closed, and we stood . . . victorious. We're a bit shell-shocked now. It was quite the battle. As usual, I'm a little sore and sting-y. I can sit though. And my head isn't actually aching as from a blow to the head, so that's new. But I'm content. Buffy smiled at me. I consider that a sweeter victory than closing the hellmouth.

Now that I think about our evening, I've only just realized . . .

Where was Xander?

-Rupert Giles

1999


	48. Bad Girls

Buffy's new Watcher has arrived, and he is a pompous prick.

His name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. That alone tells enough about his character. Rich, sheltered, a complete fool. He's exactly the kind of Watcher I expected to come. He's obviously tested well in the Council and is the sort of carbon copy that the Council takes pride in. After a disaster like me, the Council likely wanted to be safe and Chose the most loyal Watcher they had in their arsenal. Young and eager to please the Council.

I don't know why I was so worried about the new Watcher. Buffy doesn't like him. She made her disinterest quite clear when she first met him. True, I may have been pouting a little on the table, but she chose to sit next to me and give her Watcher quite a good amount of glib. So, I know now that Buffy shall always be my Slayer. Whether my title is official or not, Buffy chose to remain loyal to me instead of swearing her allegiance to this new man in her life. I must admit, I'm a little smug.

Wesley though . . . God, what can I even say of the man? He's irritating, pompous and self-entitled. He swept in here, ordering Buffy about, and then didn't understand why she didn't just do as he said. He didn't even bother to establish a connection with her. Yes, he has the Council written all over him. Buffy is just a soldier to him. A body to do her duty, and then be disposed of when she can no longer perform it. He sees the Slayer, but not the girl. And he says that _my_ attachment is a problem? That _I_ was an embarrassment to the Council because of it? They ought to be embarrassed by their own callousness. For an organization who prides itself on being the protector of humanity, they sure lack in it themselves.

The scoundrel even requested my collection of Watcher Diaries. True, they technically belong to him now, but he could have asked a bit more nicely. He has my journal as well, which is why I had to buy a new one and record my thoughts on the Slayer and our war against evil here instead. I might attempt to nick it back later when he isn't paying attention. If he has any questions, he can just ask me. No reason for him to sniff around my private thoughts.

Despite the "increase in field training" as Wesley put it, his resolve during an actual battle was . . . woeful. We had been captured by a new group of vampires named El Eliminati. According to our wise and fearless Commander, they are the remnants of a 15th century duelist cult who fell in with a demon named Balthazar. I should note that the same wise and fearless Commander was quite adamant that Balthazar was dead—he was not.

This was discovered when his acolytes captured us and brought us to Balthazar face-to-face. I rather wish they had just killed us before, or rendered us blind. But that would have been mercy, I suppose. How to describe Balthazar? Fleshy? Well, he filled a very rotund hot tub, if that gives any sort of visual. He had a bit of a temper, too. He wanted to know where his amulet was, an amulet that reportedly gave him strength.

Wesley, in his infinite genius, began to talk. I tried to have them let him go, and offered myself for their amusement instead. I wasn't entirely sure where the amulet was—though I had an inkling—but it's rather clear to me that I can withstand torture far better than this fop. I'd have been able to last long enough until Buffy arrived. They must have removed the torture tolerance part of the course since Wesley joined. Spineless dandy.

Buffy and Angel came to our rescue before Wesley could wet himself. Whilst Buffy's new Watcher flounced about, I displayed my rather superb melee skills. It just so happened that these acolytes enjoy using swords. Fencing happens to be a form of offense that I relish and am skilled in. So, Slaying a few vampires with these swords? Easily done. I think Wesley now understands what being a Watcher is all about. At least, a Watcher for Buffy on the hellmouth.

He has some way to go yet. I'm not sure he'll survive with us, if he decides to join us in the field. I should probably tell Buffy to give him a chance. That would be the right thing to do. To help build the bridge and common ground between them.

But the Council fired me, so frankly, they can kiss my "emotionally attached" arse and sod off. Buffy and I have a world to save.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	49. Consequences

Faith has killed an innocent human.

It's been a long few nights, or perhaps one very long night, it's almost impossible to separate it at this point. The atmosphere of the group is the same sort of dread and helplessness that was felt when Buffy accidentally killed Ted, Joyce's boyfriend. Of course, that was before we knew that Ted was a cyborg. And this man that Faith has killed . . . this Deputy Mayor . . . is very much human. The police were investigating the murder, and before I knew of the Slayers' involvement, I suggested the investigation remain with local law enforcement. Wesley suspected something other worldly, however, and so marched the girls off to sniff it out.

At this point, I thought it was just going to be a quiet evening and waste of resources. I remained late in the library to take care of some much-needed organizing, when Faith stopped by. She was quite jittery and solemn and told me that Buffy had killed the man in question. That they had been out patrolling and things got out of hand, and Buffy staked the man on accident. Faith is a terrible liar. As I said, her jitters were a giveaway at the very beginning. And she couldn't quite keep eye contact with me throughout her tale. I'm surprised Faith even wished to attempt to try to deceive me. Just because Buffy managed to slip a few by me doesn't mean I'm entirely without intellect.

Buffy interrupted our conversation, and to put on a front, I was quite stern with her. Knowing that she'd tell me the truth of the matter, I maneuvered Faith out of the library and spoke to Buffy in private. As I expected, Buffy told me that Faith had killed the Deputy Mayor, and that she was in complete denial that she had done anything bad. So, we are presented with a renegade Slayer. As I told Buffy, a Slayer killing a human isn't that uncommon. In fact, most Slayers kill at least one during their career. It's almost impossible not to. The heat and confusion of battle . . . if someone walks in entirely oblivious, the chance of them being harmed is extremely likely.

In such matters, the Council holds an investigation and performs punishment if it is necessary, or rehabilitation or counseling. Though the proper thing to do would have been to give the Council a call, I felt it wasn't the _right_ thing to do. Faith has always been a bit of a rebel. She doesn't respond well to authority, and this whole interrogation by the Council would have only likely pushed her further from us. To be honest, I am unsure of how to respond to Faith without her first coming to me. From experience, I know how she is feeling, what she is thinking. I was impossible to talk to months after Randall's death. It was only when I allowed myself to be approached and talked to that I was able to find some sort of direction and peace.

But I had to take that first step. I don't think Faith is ready. Indeed, she's likely more stubborn than I was, which is saying something. It also doesn't help that Wesley, once more displaying his wide intellect, contacted the Council and enlisted their help in arresting her. He intended on bringing her to England to face the Council. As a surprise to no one, Faith escaped him. So, we have his actions working against us as well. We can't reach her if she thinks she's just going to be betrayed by us all.

Upon her escape, I was sent to search her flat to see if she was there. It was still full of her things—I discovered after lockpicking the door—but she wasn't within. I returned to the library where Buffy showed not long after. Apparently, she had found Faith at the docks and was speaking with her when they were attacked by vampires. One, the infamous Trick, was about to kill Buffy, but Faith staked him when she could have used the chance to run for it. Buffy is adamant that Faith can still be reached, and she isn't going to give up on her. I can speak personally that if Buffy has your back and your support, you find that you can do anything. It may take some time, years even, but if Buffy remains stalwart in her support of Faith, I believe she can be rehabilitated.

As of now, I suppose we can only wait. I think I am being overly optimistic in my hope that she might stop by, so I can speak with her. After all, my experience is so very similar to her own, and I turned out—mostly—alright. There's hope for us killers. Even we can become antiheroes.

Besides the matter of Faith, something else has cropped up. According to Buffy, the Mayor was speaking quite intimately to Trick in his office. It would seem the leader of this town may be more aware of its less human residents than we thought. What his motives are, we are unsure, but I'm going to have Willow break into his computer files in the morning to see if she can discover anything. As of now, I have to close this entry. Buffy has fallen asleep in the library again, and I should drive her home.

It's been an exhausting night.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	50. Doppelgangland

I have seen far too much of Willow than I ever wanted or needed to see.

Somehow, her doppelganger wandered into our world. Well, not somehow. We know how now. We have a Vengeance demon living among us. Her name is Anya. According to her, she lost her power during a wish that Cordelia made. Apparently, I was the one who destroyed her power. Not too surprised, really. I expect I'm a rather capable fellow in all universes . . .

Anyway, she has been trying to restore her power, which means she needs the object which contains and holds her power. This object was an amulet that was destroyed in this . . . other . . . universe that Cordelia created with her wish. She enlisted Willow's help in creating a sort of tear between universes, so she could snatch the amulet out. However, instead of the amulet, a body was brought into our world instead. This body belonged to Willow, who had been turned into a vampire in this other universe.

Before we knew this, Buffy and Xander came to me and told me that Willow had died. We sort of . . .all collapsed in that moment. It's remarkable that one does not know how important someone is until they've been taken from oneself. We all felt Willow's death keenly. I've always been rather fond of her and appreciative of her intellect. Willow, though refreshingly socially awkward like myself, always kept us honest with ourselves. If we ever felt we were dwindling off the path, she was there with a well-timed remark or scold to put everything back into perspective. I know she certainly helped me in regards to Buffy, and my treatment of her, numerous times. And she was a great comfort to me after Jenny died as well.

Willow was more than just our go-to for brilliant breakthroughs. She reminded us of why we fight. For good people like her. People so entrenched in goodness and a genuine desire to help and support others. To heal instead of harm. To lose that sort of light, it's . . . reeling. I know I can speak to feeling despair and numb in the moments that followed the news. I couldn't quite wrap my head around her being . . . not there. That something so purely good had been warped and tainted into something evil.

Thankfully, before any of us could descend into madness, Willow appeared in the library. A very non-vampire Willow, I should add. We embraced her. Yes, even I was unable to keep my stiff upper lip and gave in to wild emotion. I was so relieved and delighted to find her exactly as she should be, that I . . . well . . . lost my composure. Briefly. For no longer than ten seconds, I assure you.

So, we had on our hands two Willows. One was a vampire, and the other was the Willow we knew and loved. Angel came to the library and told us that the vampire Willow was intending to slaughter a group of people in the Bronze. We were on the way to intercede, when normal Willow was attacked by vampire Willow. Luckily, she managed to shoot vampire Willow with a tranquilizer. We returned and locked vampire Willow into the cage in the library.

It was then that we conceived a new plan. Normal Willow would dress in vampire Willow's clothes, and she would send the vampires out one-by-one for Buffy to dispatch. If we could lessen the number of vampires we faced before the real battle begun, we would be better off. It was at this point that I saw more of Willow than I ever wanted to see. Vampire Willow's choice of wardrobe was leather. Tight-fitting leather. Normal Willow donned this bit of Dominatrix costume, and it was . . . I had terrible flashbacks to her costume for Halloween a year ago. Far too much flesh than a man who rather thinks of her as a daughter should ever, ever see.

This is precisely why I am ingesting copious amounts of Scotch in the hopes that I can repress this particular memory of Willow. To return to the story, we took our places. Xander and I went in the back, ready to storm once the signal was given. So, once we heard Willow scream, we rushed in and started attacking vampires left and right. I will say this for Xander—he is a much more capable sidekick fighter than Wesley. With his help, I Staked at least four vampires. Buffy knocked out vampire Willow, and we brought her back to the library.

Though my knowledge of opening portals is a tad dusty, I helped Anya and Willow open up the portal to—what I hope—was vampire Willow's dimension. Before vampire Willow was sent off, our Willow did the most extraordinary—and Willow-like—thing. She hugged this evil, cruel version of herself. I can't say how many might do the same thing. I know I certainly wouldn't. If I had been faced with some evil vampire version of myself, I'd have likely wanted Buffy to kill it and kill it immediately. Willow's mercy and ability to see past deeds and into a person's heart is humbling.

I wish I could be a bit more like her.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	51. Enemies

It's worse than we thought; we have ourselves a renegade Slayer.

This incident has always been a fear of the Council's. It was part of the reason why Watchers were formed in the first place. Not just to train and counsel, but to keep their Slayers in check with their humanity. We tell them that Slayers must fight on the side of good, that they must serve their fellow man, because they are the only ones who can . . . and though that is in part true, the real truth is far more terrifying. A Slayer could bend this world to her will if she so wished it. Armies could not stop the strongest, cleverest Slayer. If a Slayer ever turned her back on the world . . . we'd all be doomed.

Faith has turned her back on us. Buffy and I have had our suspicions as to her motives ever since Buffy caught Faith seducing Angel. Buffy came to me with her concerns, and with an old friend of mine telling me a story about how the Mayor wanted to take Angel's soul from him, we devised a plan. My friend, whose name is rather long and tedious to write—not to mention he prefers his privacy, and since I value my life, I'll adhere to his wishes—would put on a great mystical show of stealing Angel's soul. It would then be up to Angel's acting capabilities to sell it both to the Mayor and Faith. I'm not entirely sure of the details of what he did to convince them, but it worked.

They "kidnapped" Buffy, and she managed to make Faith confess the Mayor's plans. So, we determined not just that she was now working for the Mayor, but also that he intends to go through with a ritual called Ascension on Graduation day, here in Sunnydale. One would think that a mere man would likely fail at conducting such a complex ritual . . . but we also discovered that Mayor Wilkins is not just your average politician.

Wesley headed the group—the group being Ox, Willow and Cordelia—into the Hall of Records where they searched for information regarding the Mayor there. It was there that they found old pictures dating back a hundred years of the very same Wilkins we have in our present company. The man does not age. Yet, he is not a vampire either. Whatever he may be, I'm not sure "man" is the proper word to describe him. The only other explanation I can think of is by selling his soul to some form of demon. Which, given the reputation of politicians, doesn't seem all that far-fetched.

Now we know that the Mayor also has The Books of Ascension, which given the title, I believe likely gives a step-by-step process on how to achieve its end. I should take a moment here to add that these books came to Sunnydale via a most unfortunate example of the demon world. The creature wanted _money_ in return for the books. Money! It's despicable, and if I was a demon, I'd be embarrassed by this show of disrespect for ancient tradition. Really, he could have at least asked for a puppy's paw or newborn's blood or something in addition. Oh! And he was living in an apartment building! What happened to crypts? Sewers? Caves? Demons need indoor plumbing these days? Where's the respect for tradition!? These young demons are going to ruin the demon world. Or, at the very least, their reputation. And in the demon world, reputation means a lot.

For example, though I'm not calling my Nameless Friend a demon, his reputation is a terrifying one. I'd never want to be on his list. Though, I was. Once. His wedding guest list. Quite an odd affair, really, but I couldn't very decline his invitation. I was the one who introduced him to his wife, after all. It was a funny affair, actually. I was five years back into my Training at the Council, and I decided to go to this medieval weaponry and witchcraft sort of convention. It was quite hush-hush and underground. The weapons were exceptional, and some of the weapons I give to Buffy now came from that convention. Having been a dabbler in magicks, I eventually found my way towards the mystics part of the convention where I met a lovely young woman with three eyes and hooves selling unique baubles. Though I didn't purchase anything from her, I got to talking with her about arts—both dark and light—and she had a few fascinating theories that still bring me great pleasure to think through to this day. Well, I eventually took my leave of her and ventured to the refreshments portion of the convention. Here, I loaded up with extremely potent . . . well, I'm not entirely what it was, actually, but it kicked like a horse to the head. I found myself talking to my Nameless Friend, who looked quite the same then as he did now—that is to say, glowing eyes and concealed face. After a few drinks together, we got well and sloshed and sang a few songs to the enjoyment of the other drinkers. At one point, my Nameless Friend spotted the young woman from the baubles table I had spoken to earlier. He was enamored immediately. So I, feeling quite bold, took him over and introduced them. He vomited immediately on her hooves, but I calmed the situation . . . and now they're happily married with five children. But I still would never seek to cross him. Reputation.

Now, in regards to this Ascension, I am not entirely sure what it is exactly. The only thing I did discover was from a letter describing it briefly. In it, were the words, "Tomorrow is the Ascension. God help us all." It was a letter from the town of Sharpsburg . . . and this town was never heard from again. It completely vanished—its inhabitants, the buildings. All that remained were remnants of former buildings and homes. To my knowledge, Sharpsburg was not built over a hellmouth. Sunnydale is. If the Mayor succeeds in his Ascension, I fear his strength may be doubled based on the evil power that resides here. We are pressed for time. Though Faith escaped us, we have to focus on the Mayor and find a way of disrupting this ritual before it can even begin. This plan seems doomed to fail from the start, however, as we're not even sure how the ritual must be performed in the first place.

With Faith working against us, this also puts Buffy in even more danger. Fighting a powerful vampire is one thing . . . but this is a Slayer. Her own strength against her. I am uneasy in sending Buffy out to pit against Faith. I know the Council would rest easier if Buffy manages to eliminate Faith, but . . . Faith is still a Slayer. And I know Buffy still believes she can change, even in the face of this betrayal. We seem to have become a reactionary force now. There is little we can do. We must wait and see what move the Mayor takes next.

Speaking of moves, there's this terribly awkward tension between Wesley and Cordelia. She blatantly asked him out in front of all of us. I've never felt more awkward. Nor, apparently, has Wesley. I'm not sure if he returns any of Cordelia's interest, as he turns into a blabbering foolish schoolboy whenever she's near, but if he does, he had best take care. True, Cordelia is eighteen, but she's still a student. America is a little less forgiving than in England.

Honestly, I think they're just both terribly awkward people, and it causes me great pain to see them interact.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	52. Earshot

How to even describe the recent phenomenon at Sunnydale High? There was a killer lunch lady and Buffy had telepathy.

I think that about sums it up. Good lord, I live in a very odd place. Let's begin with Buffy's telepathy. She developed it after fighting a new species of demon that had made its way into Sunnydale. Scaly, pointy and without mouths, she killed one but touched it in the process. Afterwards, she complained to me that her hand—where she had touched the demon—was itching horribly. After finding the demon in one of my demonology books, I found the cause for her irritation. This species of demons infected their host with an aspect of the demon.

Buffy thought that might mean she might grow a tail or scales. I wasn't entirely too worried, as the biology between this species and Buffy was so very different, that I was sure her immune system would fight against whatever foreign infection was attempting to spread through her system. We were both wrong. Instead, Buffy developed telepathy. It was a gradual development. The thoughts came one-at-a-time at first, but she was able to hear everyone's thoughts. Even the most fleeting and errant. For example, I was making some idle remark on her enslavement to fashion trends. Just a tiny thought that was there and then gone, but Buffy heard it. In fact, she took some pleasure in letting me know that she had heard it.

At first, this seemed like an excellent gift. Hearing her opponents' thoughts would give her an edge in battle. She'd be able to have her counterattack ready before they even moved. The possibilities were fantastic!

And then the trouble began. Since Buffy did not know how to control her telepathy, she began to hear everything. Her friends—and to a degree myself—became uncomfortable being around her. It's difficult surrendering one's most private inner sanctum to someone. Our thoughts are our own private little bubble, usually impregnable to all outside forces. In our minds, we are safe and free to think as we like. However, Buffy—though she didn't wish to—invaded this area that was supposed to belong solely to us. She knew any secret she could want to know, deceit was impossible.

Thankfully, I was able to mentally discipline myself whenever she was around for the most part. I kept my mind focused on silence. The strain was quite considerable, since I'm used to thinking quite a lot and quite often. However, I could see that it was beginning to gradually cause Buffy pain. Her power grew, and she was able to hear more and more thoughts over long distances. It was this point where she heard someone in the cafeteria claim that they were going to kill everyone the following day—which was yesterday, now.

So, whilst Xander, Cordelia, Oz and Willow began to work through who the culprit may be, I took Buffy home and started working on some sort of solution that might negate the telepathy. It was a longshot. Wesley aided me, I must admit. Together, we worked through some possible theories, and then decided to work with what seemed the most plausible. We only had one chance at it, as it required the original demon's heart. Luckily, there was still one running about, and Angel was good enough to kill it and bring us the heart. With the heart, we were able to concoct a sort of antidote mixed with a neuron repressor.

We gave it to Buffy . . . and waited. I'm starting to wish that we had made the cure earlier . . . as Buffy happily intimated later on that she knows about Joyce and my . . . brief . . . tryst. I had rather hoped Joyce might _not_ think about _that_ particular event, but as wonderful as our minds are, they do so love to betray us. She was likely trying to repress it so much, that it came out anyway. The fact that I ran into a tree after Buffy's little exclamation I think speaks to my shock of her knowing. It's going to be horribly awkward with her for the next few weeks.

In regards to the evil lunch lady—yes, I actually wrote that—Xander found her dumping rat poison into her food. Though no one was harmed, Buffy had to fight her. From what I understand, she put up quite the fight, too. The cure worked for Buffy. She is sound in her own mind, and more importantly, out of ours.

Before I bring this entry to a close, Buffy did mention one thing in regards to her telepathy. When she tried to read Angel's thoughts, she was unable to. Though I find this quite interesting from a researcher's perspective, I have to say . . .

Clearly, Angel must be brain dead.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	53. Choices

We have been unable to thwart the Mayor's plans to Ascend on Graduation day once more.

We had the means in our grasp. Through quite a bit of skilled thievery, we infiltrated City Hall and stole a chest that we devised the Mayor needed for his Ascension. The chest we discovered to be The Box of Gavrok. Within the chest housed a great demonic energy. The Mayor was required to consume this energy in his preparation for the Ascension. How he even discovered this Box is extraordinary to me. His connections are vast and deeply rooted in the most ancient of evils. He obviously knows more than even the Council, as they have been quite incompetent in giving us aid on this matter of Ascension.

As I mentioned before, we failed in keeping him from consuming the contents in the chest. During the operation, Willow was captured, and we found ourselves at an impasse. Wesley, in pure Council thinking, thought the best course of action was to sacrifice Willow and destroy the chest, so that the Mayor would never Ascend. It was a sure a way to keep it from happening, and would likely result in saving hundreds if not thousands of lives. Yet, the price was Willow's life. If we destroyed the chest, there isn't a doubt in my mind that they wouldn't kill her . . . or worse. Wilkins is pure evil. There isn't an ounce of compassion in that shell of flesh. He'd make us pay through Willow for as long as he could.

Though a part of me understands Wesley's argument, I could never agree to it. I was attempting to figure out some other way we could rescue Willow whilst keeping hold of the chest, but Oz rather decided the argument by destroying the instrument we needed to destroy the chest. I made the call. A trade. Willow for the Box. It was accepted, and we took the necessary measures to ensure we were not ambushed. After all, Wilkins essentially has an army of vampires at his disposal. They follow power and strength, and he is proving to have both in copious amounts.

The trade was to occur in the cafeteria. As one can imagine, it did not go smoothly. Snyder, the meddlesome, ignoble berk interrupted the trade, and one of his uniformed lackeys opened the chest. Some violent insect-looking demon crawled out of it and killed him. Buffy and Faith killed the other few that escaped. The chest was handed over, and Willow was returned to us unharmed. During the trade, the Mayor said a few honest things about Buffy and Angel's relationship.

Buffy is young in her experience with relationships. While I'm not saying she doesn't truly love Angel, I think she is still in that stage of emotional youth where she believes that if she loves enough, their relationship can conquer anything. It's a romantic, idealistic view. But as Wilkins said . . . it isn't lasting. Angel has been through numerous—perhaps countless—relationships in his lifetime. He understands the troubles ahead. He understands all he'd be denying to Buffy if they lived a life together. It's their relationship, of course, and I am only a keen observer. I believe Buffy can do much, much better than Angel, so if the relationship dissolves, I won't be entirely upset about it.

Despite the fact that Wilkins is likely having a five course meal of demonic energy at the moment, we did gain something out of the entire affair—besides Willow, of course. Whilst she was captured, Willow managed to steal a few pages out of the Books of Ascension. I'm about to start studying the content of their pages after I finish this entry. Willow is extraordinary. Despite being under extreme duress, she thought through it and used her capture to our advantage.

Besides this business with Wilkins, another development has occurred in the life of the Slayer. Buffy received an acceptance letter from Northwestern University. From what I understand of American universities, this is one to be quite proud of being accepted into. Though it is in Illinois, I find it difficult to deny her the chance for an exceptional education. It would have been easier had Faith remained with us, but . . . as that is no longer a possibility, we'll have to plan carefully instead. If, of course, she is adamant in her attending Northwestern. Willow was also accepted into Oxford, among many other universities, of course. Had she been my child, I'd have likely felt quite delighted that she was following in her father's footsteps. Unless she chooses somewhere else to go to school. Though I can't imagine why you'd ever pass up Oxford. It's simply the best university out there.

 _Dominus Illuminatio Mea._

-Rupert Giles

1999


	54. Prom

In a place like the Hellmouth, fairytales are difficult to believe in . . . but I think I just witnessed one.

Let's have a story, shall we?

Once upon a time, there was a brave warrior princess whose life was devoted to protecting the innocent from the forces of darkness. She had fallen in love with a dark prince, and their love was complicated. She was a child of the light, and he of the night. Try as they might, they could never fully exist in each other's worlds. The dark prince realized this one day and told the princess that they must end their courtship. Though the princess was heartbroken, she was resolute to remain as strong as she could.

During this time, there was a great ball to be held at the castle . . .err . . . Castle Sunnydale. It was the ball of balls, and all those of the highest class were attending. The princess was unsure if she would attend without the dark prince at her side, but she had another pressing matter in any case. An evil, scorned young man had trained hellhounds to attack those who wear tuxedos. It was clear that he had devised an evil plan to disrupt the magnificent ball and ruin the happy dreams of all those present. The princess was determined that her friends would experience a happy time at the ball and set out to thwart the villain's dastardly plan.

Through no small amount of strength and agility and cleverness, the princess was successful. She killed each hellhound and locked their master away to be questioned by the **local enforcement** knights of the realm. Though the princess was still sore about going to the ball without her suitor, she dressed and entered where it was being held. Her dress was astounding, and she looked never more the princess than in that moment. Her friends flocked to her, happy she had arrived and grateful for her timely rescue of the event.

And so the ball went on. **Horrid** Exotic music played, and the subjects danced and danced. Awards were given out per custom of the ball, but before they were finished, they had one last award to give. The princess was called to the stage. Her subjects had all noticed her bravery and sacrifice in protecting them over the years, and so they gave her the title of Class Protector and humbly presented a parasol trophy to her. The princess was deeply touched by this recognition, and I—your humble bard—had never been so proud of a **student** subject body before.

Just as we believed that all the gifts had been given, fate had one last in store. The final song was playing, and all those with a loved one had nestled in together. Yes, even the dreaded fool Wesley had managed to get his bollocks together and ask the fair maiden he'd been staring at all night to dance. The princess turned to the door . . . and saw her dark prince standing there, dressed in all the glory a prince should wear. The two embraced and shared one last dance to the song in their hearts.

The end.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	55. Graduation Day Parts 1&2

It is in these small moments where our fate in the face of the Ascension shall be determined.

Graduation day has rapidly approached us. Though the school itself is filled with cheer and relief from the Senior class, those who are privy to the dark threat looming over us all find their cheer a tad more reserved. We've lost one of our potent warriors. Angel has been injured by an arrow laced with a poison deadly to him. The others are working on finding a cure for it, whilst Xander and I have been locked away in the library, working off of the research a recently murdered Professor Worth had composed. So much has happened. And so much is about to happen. I'll attempt to relate it all here, for I fear that this journal may be the only thing left to tell the tale of what happened in Sunnydale.

Professor Worth, slain by Faith, was working on some research of a dig he had performed on a volcano in Kauai. At the bottom of the volcano, or rather underneath it, he found a large carcass. He attributed to being an undiscovered dinosaur . . . but based on Anya's account, we think we know better. Anya was there at an Ascension before whilst she had been a Vengeance Demon. This sorcerer had become the embodiment of the demon Lohesh. Though we thought the demon would be similar to those we had fought in the past, Anya proved us incorrect. The Mayor wouldn't become a hybrid, as those we have seen, but a pure demon. Which, simply, means that it will be extremely large and likely quite angry.

However, Anya also said that the rituals the Mayor was performing weren't the same the sorcerer had used. Which means he is not aiming to become Lohesh, but another demon entirely. Our meeting was interrupted by the Mayor himself. He walked right into the library and goaded us. Perhaps I acted a tad irrationally, for when he directly threatened Buffy, I drove my rapier through his chest. It was quite alarming to see that he was only surprised by my action . . . and in no way harmed by it. My sword sat there in his chest, and he didn't even flinch with pain. He merely pulled it back out and tossed it to me. It was unsettling.

As I mentioned before, Angel was shot with an arrow and a poison had been administered. Despite my feelings for him, I knew Buffy needed him back to full health, and we did as well. Angel is a force that we desperately need in this last desperate fight against Wilkins. In war, personal feelings must be set aside for the greater outcome to unfold. I hope they find a cure. Though, I was banking on the Council coming to aid us. As Wesley said, they have files upon files of known toxins and their antitoxins. Yet, as he informed us, the Council refuses to aid a vampire, special circumstances or not.

Buffy made a precedent in that moment. She quit the Council. A Slayer has always worked in tandem with the Council. They've always been the Council's soldier. I have no idea how the Council is going to take the news. It isn't as though they can just train another to use as their soldier. Some part of me worries that they might send one of their special units for her . . . If this Slayer won't work with them, then they can mold the next one into their perfect little soldier. All they'd need to do is . . . eliminated . . . the current Slayer. I want to believe that the Council is better than that. That if they fight for humanity, they won't perform such an evil deed. But I've lost my faith in the Council. Should we survive this fight, I'll have to keep my ears open for any movement on the Council's behalf in regards to Buffy.

Yet the likelihood of surviving this battle becomes more and more grim as time goes on. I've recently discovered whom I think the demon Wilkins is going to become. Olvikan. Though not the largest demon, he is certainly the biggest we've ever faced. Big and ravenous. He could feed on the entire town of Sunnydale and not slake his hunger. I don't wish to say we're doomed . . . but there is not much light shining right now. I'll set this entry aside for now. I can't rest until I've given my all.

God help us.

* * *

Well, I'm officially unemployed.

The good news is that I'm alive to be unemployed. We all are . . . save for a few students and Principal Snyder. The former are tragedies, of course, but the latter? . . . Somehow I just can't bring myself to feel any form of remorse. Especially since I have a feeling he'd march right up to me and sack me in person if he was still alive. As if it was necessary . . . the entire high school has been destroyed. I did that, by the way. I blew up the high school. It was oddly satisfying.

So, the battle. Well, first I should say that we did find the cure for Angel. Apparently, he needed the Slayer's blood to survive. Buffy had attempted to acquire Faith for this venture, but she put her in a coma instead. I saw Faith in hospital . . . Though my relationship with her is quite strained, she looked quite pitiful in that bed. Her face is entirely bruised . . . indeed, she almost wasn't recognizable. The original reason I was in hospital was to see Buffy. She . . . ah . . . offered herself to Angel instead. He fed off of her. Xander put it rather eloquently when he pointed out the fact that Angel had chosen to nearly kill the girl who loved him to save his own arse. If Angel had even a little less control, he very well might have killed Buffy. We needed him in the battle, yes, but if it became between him or Buffy, I know who I'd prefer to have at my side in battle. Even if that didn't necessarily mean we'd win.

Luckily, Buffy recovered quickly and gathered us all in the library where she told us her plan. It was a ridiculous plan. Dangerous. And it worked. We armed each student in the graduating class and formed our own little army to combat the Mayor and his forces. Xander made explosives based on ingredients that Willow and Oz found and procured. I was in charge of waiting for Buffy to run out of the library . . . and then blow it up. Naturally, I spent most of the day removing the books. As if I could allow them to be blown to smithereens. I may not be a librarian anymore, but I could hardly allow _books_ to be destroyed.

Of course, now I have over three hundred books that I need to somehow fit into my flat. I may need to rent a storage unit. Anyway, Buffy worked the Mayor—who by the way, transformed into the most hideous snake demon I have ever seen—into a frenzy and made him chase her through the school. Once she emerged from the library and took her place beside me, I pushed down on the lever . . .and watched the library, the school as a whole, just . . . blow up. There's nothing really left but a few walls and some rubble.

In this rubble, I found a remaining diploma. I gave it to Buffy afterwards. The poor girl is exhausted. Physically, and I warrant emotionally as well. Angel has left us for good. And a good riddance, I say. He's hurt Buffy more times than I care to count. She'll need time to recover, of course, but I saw her and the others heading off. So long as she has her friends at her side, I remain assured that she can get through anything. Yes, all those in our little group survived. Xander, who showed extreme commanding skill during the battle—or so I heard, Oz and Willow and Cordelia—all who displayed brilliant warrior skills. Wesley was injured at some point in the battle, but I saw him off to hospital just a half hour ago. Other than being in severe pain, he's quite alright. As to his plans, I'm not quite sure where his path will now take him. I don't know if he's still allied with the Council or has turned his back on them as well. Either way, I ought to visit him in hospital in the morning.

I've no idea if I'm going to get any sleep tonight. I drank some terrible coffee earlier, and my hands haven't quite stopped shaking since. Not even chamomile tea is soothing me. I am utterly exhausted, but until this dreaded caffeine-adrenaline mix leaves my system, I am afraid I'm wired. I suppose I can use this time to ponder my own future. As I said before, I am quite thoroughly unemployed now. Librarian positions are difficult to come by as it is, and I need to make a decision as to if I should even remain in America.

I was here originally to be Buffy's Watcher. Then I was sacked, and Buffy has proven time and again that she does not require a Watcher or the Council at all. In regards to her Slaying, she is quite self-sufficient. I don't really have a purpose here any longer. All I am is Buffy's friend. A very adult-shaped friend. As she goes to college and takes steps to mold her own life, my place in it becomes less and less clear. We lose friends all the time. There isn't anything wrong with moving on from friends. We are constantly changing people, and sometimes friends who suited us well before, no longer do later in our lives. It will be sad, of course. Likely more sad on my part than hers. She was my life, after all, for three years . . . longer than that if one considers my years in training to become her Watcher.

Now I'm faced with freedom of choice. Long ago, I had thirsted for this. There are paths ahead of me, and any one I can easily take. Yet, I find myself hesitating from taking a step into the light and away from the darkness I've lived my life in for decades. Can anyone move on . . . knowing what we know? I helped save the world today. How can I open some bookshop in Bath after that? And yet there it is . . . the lure of normalcy. I'm not too old yet. I could still find love, perhaps settle down and have a family. They needn't ever know of the monsters under their beds that their father faced.

I have some money saved up. I don't need to look for a job any time soon. Perhaps I'll just have myself a summer holiday here in Sunnydale first. Yes. I'll be able to make my decision after I've properly rested and recovered from this school year.

And perhaps by then I'll know where I fit in Buffy's life.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	56. Summer '99

Another summer is over.

Well, for some people. Technically, I can be on summer time for as long as I want. I've become rather appreciative of being a man of leisure. Doing what I like when I like has been extraordinary for my health and mood. I find myself much more relaxed as of late . . . and dare I say . . . a little tan? Indeed, I've spent most of this summer outdoors, either reading or simply reflecting over a cup of tea. Though Buffy and the others will be starting their first day at University soon, I don't have to return to work. Something about that feels rather nice.

I spent a month in England. I've visited my childhood home in London and checked on the housekeeper and butler there. They were delighted to see me. I do feel rather bad for leaving them alone over there, with incredibly infrequent visits, but they know my work keeps me away. Besides, I'm sure they enjoy having a bit of constant summer as well. They are becoming rather old. Mrs. Marigold was my nanny when I was a boy, and though she's greyed, she's still as spry and blunt as ever. I suspect they'll remain in that house until they pass. Retirement doesn't suit either of them. I also visited my other homes, checking to see the state they were in. The small farm I own has been producing well enough, I'm pleased to note. The horses are healthy, and the chickens are laying.

I managed to avoid the Council, who may or may not have had someone following me to see what I was up to. As if they suspected I was on some secret mission for the Slayer. Please, Buffy is more blunt than subtle. I did run into someone whilst in England though. An old friend of mine, Olivia. I met her back in the Ripper days. She was one of the fringe girls. She was a good girl by day, but then hung out with some choice rough crowds at night. No one too rough, of course. If things became heavy, she'd fire off something and leave. I met her at a party and promptly told her that I was one of the founding members of Pink Floyd. That was always something that worked with girls back in the day, and whether Olivia believed it or not, didn't seem to matter. She was interested in exactly the same thing I was . . . and that was that. Anyway, we had some tea, caught up . . . and she'll be flying here within the week to stay for a few days.

As for the rest of the summer holiday, I did see Willow off-and-on throughout the summer. She's continuing her studies of magicks, and I wanted to help guide her whilst I had the time. Apparently, there's some sort of Wicca club at the University, and she intends on joining. She also helped me reorganize my book collection, since I obtained so many copies from the high school library before it was blown up. Buffy stopped by earlier in the summer once at my behest. With Angel out of the picture, I wanted to make sure she was alright. She seemed . . . a little distant . . . but in well enough mental health. I'm hoping this return to a schedule will prompt her to visit more often . . . but if she doesn't, than I shall understand. Her message will be clear . . . that I am no longer necessary in her life.

I feel better about that now than I did before. This leisure thing is quite nice, and with Olivia coming in a few days, I feel . . . as though the future looks promising. I see a light instead of the eternal darkness of the life I've lived before. I can sleep at night instead of hunt demons in it. I can wake early in the morning and greet the sun, refreshed, instead of bidding it goodnight after a long wakeful night. But time will tell. For now, all I can do is prepare myself for another week of reading, sleeping, perhaps some jogging—yes, I've taken that up—and mindless strumming of my guitar at sundown.

It's been an excellent summer.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	57. The Freshman

I am a fool.

There I was, determined and resolute that my place in Buffy's life would only be in an advising capacity . . . and I couldn't handle it. Not after the way she looked at me. It was the first week of university, and Buffy showed up at my door quite unexpectedly. There was a bit of awkward communication since Olivia was the one to have discovered her, and I was still . . . recovering. It seems my having a personal relationship was setting her off, for even though I tried to start a conversation with her, Buffy was quite determined to leave. She appeared . . . skittish.

However, she eventually told me that there was a missing student, and his missing seemed fishy. She suspected vampires, and I told her she could handle it on her own. I don't doubt her capability. Looking back on all she has accomplished, every foe she has put down, what's a normal vampire to her? I was adamant at this point to push her into standing on her own. To become more . . . self-reliant. She isn't a child any longer. Though my fondness for her makes me want to ensure her safety, much like any parent, I have to stop coddling and let her make mistakes and learn through experience. It's the only way anyone can become an adult in truth.

The look in her eyes though . . . It was akin to rejecting a puppy. Her metaphorical tail tucked between her legs, and she scampered off whimpering. I'd hurt her in some small way. Or some large way. Either way, I disappointed her, and that isn't something that ever rests easily with me. It ought to be silly that a fully grown man needs approval and praise from someone so much younger . . . but Buffy has been hurt by this world. I don't want to add any more harm.

So, I sat and reflected and told Olivia my troubles. I told her once, long ago, of the destiny I had been running from. She didn't believe it then, and I don't expect her to believe it now. It's easier not to. She returned to London earlier today. There was some . . . tension. As much as I appreciate Olivia's companionship, she wasn't brought up in this world like I was . . . like Jenny and Buffy were. Though our camaraderie is easy, I think bringing her into my world would strain us. And what we have going is too simple for that sort of strain. So, she's left a few days earlier than she was scheduled. I don't take it as an insult. This sort of world makes her uncomfortable, and she prefers the safety of ignorance. I can't blame her for that. If my devotion to Buffy was a little less, perhaps I'd have joined her on that plane to London.

But it isn't. Watcher or not, Buffy is my Slayer. I was up all night thinking about it. If she is harmed because I wasn't there to watch her back, then I know the guilt of it would drive me mad forever. So sod self-reliance. I have her back through thick and thin.

It was a bit thin tonight. When I arrived, weapons at the ready, they had already conquered the evil that night . . . apparently. I knew I should have just grabbed the nearest shirt and ran out. But no. I had to make sure my sweater matched my socks. I was able to assist in some heavy lifting though, of course. We returned to Buffy's dorm room where we returned all of her things to their proper places. Apparently, there was a group of vampires who fed off university students, and then stole their items for their own. Clever, as far as survival goes.

Afterwards, we all sat around and had a good talk. I loved it. It felt a bit like the old times. All of us laughing and telling stories. Xander informed us of his great road trip which ended early and in dramatic fashion. Apparently, he was a male stripper for a time. No wonder it took him nearly three months to return to Sunnydale. Willow has cut her hair. She looks quite edgy now. I imagine Oz has had that influence on her. Buffy appears more relaxed and self-assured. Yes, I am writing this whilst sitting in the room with them. It's a bad habit.

Though, I have to stop now. We're about to play some game called Apples to Apples.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	58. Living Conditions

Ah, the joy of roommates.

We can learn a great deal about ourselves when we live with roommates. For example, I discovered that I absolutely loathe when people move my books. Oftentimes, it's because I can't ever find them again. Or worse, they closed the book without marking the page first. My time with my roommates in Oxford were notorious for doing this. There was always a fight over who would use the desk nearest the fireplace. If I had the desk, and I needed to make some tea or use the loo, I'd leave the desk and return . . . to find one of my roommates at the desk, my books discarded either on the floor or on another desk entirely. More often than not, my books would also be closed in the process, and I'd have to shift through page-by-page to find where I had left off. Extreme pet peeve of mine.

Buffy has been . . . suffering . . . with her dormitory roommate. Her name is . . . was . . . Kathy. At first, we all thought Buffy was just having some difficulty adjusting to sharing her space with another. After all, Buffy has always been an only child. She's used to receiving the sole attention of her mother and having all the space she has ever required. She hasn't needed to share or make compromises. Though Kathy was a tad . . . odd . . . we certainly never thought anything was amiss. We, being Willow, Xander, Oz and myself.

Indeed, when Buffy first stopped by my place after I'd been jogging, she even agreed that she was likely being a tad . . . err . . . aggressive in her feelings towards Kathy. Of course, she also claimed that I was having a mid-life crisis based on the fact that I've started receiving a magazine on Motorbikes, so her judgment was a little lacking by this time, anyway. She also mentioned a demon that she fought on campus, one her roommate had witnessed as well, though Buffy was able to convince her that it was merely a mugger. In an attempt to hide away from her roommate, Buffy decided to spend lunch with me. She shared with me how university was treating her so far. Apparently, the Professor of her popular culture class yelled at her on the first day. I'm no teacher myself, but I thought it rather common sense that an authoritative figure really shouldn't berate young adults who are still growing and maturing and learning about themselves, and thus prone to moments of low self-esteem. I rather wish Buffy had told me about this individual earlier. I'd have gone straight to the Dean. They shouldn't have such abrasive, egotistical, insensitive Narcissists in their employ.

As Buffy became more unstable, her irritation with her roommate increasing, the rest of us grew more concerned. Buffy was experiencing horrific dreams involving a scorpion and ingestion of blood. Kathy was suffering from the same sort of nightmares. My first theory was that this was all tied to the demon that Buffy had met on campus. Kathy was with her, and she was suffering from the same ailment. With Buffy becoming more and more aggressive towards Kathy, we had to drastic measures. Especially when Buffy announced that Kathy was evil, and she was going to kill her. I, at the time, believed that Buffy had been possessed by the demon who had attacked her.

After capturing Buffy via net, Oz and Xander tied her to a chair and kept an eye on her whilst I stopped at the Magic Shop and looked for ingredients which would reveal the demon, so we might fight it and free Buffy from its' possession. While I was there, however, I noticed that the toenails that Buffy had claimed were growing despite having been cut were, in fact, growing. Not only that, they were regenerating, which is a key sign of a demon. Since I was in the Magic Shop, I scoured the tomes and found a ritual identical to the one that Buffy described.

It was then that I knew that Buffy had been right all along. Kathy was a Mok'tagar demon. They are a species of trans-dimensional demons that have the ability to assume any form or guise. However, due to their lack of soul, they are able to recognize one another. The nighttime dreams Buffy had been experiencing weren't dreams at all. Kathy was stealing Buffy's soul bit-by-bit in order to acquire it for herself. She did not want to be found by the other members of her species, and so needed a soul to escape. Our knowledge of the Mok-tagar demons is quite limited. They do not appear to wish to harm humans, unlike many other species of demon. In fact, they seem rather adamant about avoiding the human species as a whole, hence the firm desire to keep Kathy from her perceived foolish dream of living life as a human. Though I would not call them peaceful, I am grateful that they do not perceive us to be a large enough threat to engage in violently.

Quickly, I returned home to discover that Buffy had broken free and was on the hunt for Kathy. Knowing that if she killed Kathy before I could reverse the ritual Kathy had performed, Buffy would likely be mistaken for Kathy and be taken to whatever hell dimension the Mok'tagar inhabit. With Willow's aid, I was able to conduct a spell that returned Buffy's soul. Apparently, just in time, too. Another Mok'tagar demon appeared in Buffy's dorm—according to Xander and Oz—and made a portal which sucked Kathy into it. The Mok'tagar demon followed.

Now, Willow and Buffy are roommates. Why they didn't just go in as roommates in the first place, I'm not entirely sure. But we're all having a moving in day sort of party, aiding Willow in bringing her personal effects to Buffy's room. I was told there would be pizza—that I am likely paying for—so I'll be attending. That and I likely owe Buffy an apology for being cautious in believing that Kathy was more than she appeared to be. Not to mention, I can show Willow the Gutenberg demonography that a friend of mine is letting me borrow for a few weeks. I know she'll appreciate it as much as I do. My friend was also kind enough to translate the German, of which has always been a bit shaky for me.

I think there's a lesson here somewhere.

Don't be an annoying roommate; your living partner might just be a Slayer who believes you may be evil.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	59. The Harsh Light of Day

**Author's Note: Happy Christmas Eve, everyone! I just wanted to make a quick note here. If you're curious as to my posting schedule during the Holiday season, I have it written on my profile for you to refer to. I hope everyone has a fantastic holiday! Stay lovely!**

* * *

I held a Holy Grail in my hands today.

Well, not truly THE Holy Grail, but something akin to its majesty and legend. It's called the Gem of Amara. Much like the Holy Grail, it promised invincibility, immortality. The location was only ever spoken of in riddles, and though many attempts had been made to find the Gem, no one had discovered its true location. Until now.

It was Spike who discovered its domain. He must have read the same—or very similar—text that I found. It referred to the Gem of Amara and stated that it "resides in the valley of the sun." Sunnydale. It makes one wonder if the actual Holy Grail might be located somewhere in this demon nest as well. How it came to Sunnydale, I am uncertain. More research clearly needs to be done, and since I have abundant free time, I might make it a project to while away the hours until the next time I'm needed.

At any rate, Spike had found where the Gem was being kept—in an underground sealed crypt. Oz, Willow and I hurried to the site of this excavation, fully intending to find the Gem and keep it from Spike. When we arrived, there was another vampire there, Harmony. She had been a student at Sunnydale with Willow and the others, and she appeared to be quite distraught over Spike and being a vampire. Apparently, being an immortal and slave to the night is not all it's cracked up. Harmony took a rather nice chunk out of Willow earlier, so I really don't have much room for sympathy in regards to Harmony's plight.

Harmony did inform us that Spike had taken the Gem and tested it on her. She was Staked, but she did not die. The Gem's powers are, clearly, not falsified. She ran off before she could tell us where Spike was now. The three of us, rather empty-handed, left the crypt and headed topside. We intended to reconvene with Xander and Buffy at my home. When they arrived, it was with the Gem in tow. Spike had taken the Gem, and then thought he might face off with the Slayer with this new advantage. Even invincibility could not save him from Buffy's prowess, however. She took the Gem from him, and he ran off as the sun started to cook him like bangers in the morning.

Good lord, that sounds delicious. **Purchase sausages in the morning.**

The group has only just left after this little meeting. We talked about what to do with the ring. I rather thought we ought to destroy it. This Gem is powerful, and in the wrong hands, could potentially be catastrophic. Buffy disagreed . . . and the ring is now headed towards Angel. I held my tongue when this decision was made, but I do not agree with it at all. If anyone has proven that he should not be wholly trusted, it is Angel. Even if he does not intend on ever returning to his Angelus psyche, the threat is always there. Should anyone find a way to steal his soul from him, the transformation will occur. Angelus is a monster. A monster with the Gem of Amara is a brutal and long-lasting battle waiting to happen. Countless could be killed because of it.

I suppose my research had best include means to counteract the Gem. Just in case. I'm also concerned as to the transportation of the Gem. Oz is taking it with him to LA—where Angel has relocated—when his band goes over for a gig. If any of the other vampires have caught whiff of the Gem being discovered, Oz could potentially be in a great deal of danger. I've asked him to contact me regularly through his travels, just to check in. All this agitation has left me with a nervous bout of energy.

Perhaps I'll finish restocking my books. Xander was helping me earlier in alphabetizing them—a fact he learned later, and thus had to re-do the first two shelves since he had no idea as to how to sort—but we were unable to finish. That might calm me enough for a time.

Ha! That incident reminded me. Xander and I were interrupted by none other than Anya, the Vengeance demon. She walked right through my front door without bothering to ring! The gall! Just because she was in my home in another dimension does not give her permission to waltz in whenever she feels like it. She wasn't even there to speak with me. For whatever reason, she wished to speak to Xander. She even attempted to rid me from the room! _My_ room! Just because she was a Vengeance Demon for centuries doesn't negate the fact that she was once a human. She _knows_ human manners. She's just choosing to be intolerable.

I need some tea.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	60. Fear Itself

Tonight, I can add 'chainsaw-wielding master' to my resume.

Which, actually, I really should work on updating. I'm becoming increasingly bored with this life of leisure. Though its done wonders for the backlog of books that I wanted to read, it's really doing nothing for other stimulation. Boredom equates to deterioration, and I really can't afford to do that. Especially not when Buffy still calls upon me to aid her now and then. That, and some sort of job or hobby will keep me from eating bags of candy. Which occurred . . . tonight. Three bags. Currently residing in my belly.

In my defense, it's Halloween. This is my first American Halloween where I have not had Watcher duties keeping me from properly celebrating the holiday. What a lovely holiday it is, too! I stopped by a local Halloween store, unsure of exactly what I might find. To my delight, there were so many interesting and amusing little decorations, that I likely spent far more than I should have. In particular, my favorite is this dancing Frankenstein Monster that hangs from the ceiling. Quite amusing.

Oh! And my costume. Well, I wasn't entirely sure what to dress up as. A knight seemed rather obvious, and I'm afraid I'm not as up to date on my popular culture as Xander is, so most of the costumes I saw didn't make much sense to me. Then I saw it! This wonderfully authentic—I think—Mexican outfit! The sombrero itself sold me, honestly. That, and it was quite discounted. So, I wore the costume most of the day, eating candy and waiting for Trick-or-Treaters.

Halloween is wonderful. Perhaps it's the chocolate buzz still talking—I've been rather on a sugar rush all day—but I absolutely love the holiday. Why isn't it Halloween every day? It would certainly ease our demon attacks, as they abhor the holiday and stay in their little tombs and sewers. But the candy! The candy, the costumes, the movies, the atmosphere itself! It's just a great deal of fun. I can't wait until next year, though I do hope it's a tad more uneventful. This holiday had me rescuing Buffy and the others with a chainsaw.

Anya, dressed in an Easter bunny costume, appeared at my door in the night, telling me that the house she was to join Xander and the gang in was making its doors and windows disappear. Clearly, some sort of matter and reality distortion was occurring. I removed my costume, threw some weapons into a bag, and followed Anya to this fraternity house that was hosting a party. As Anya had said, the house was entirely locked in itself. The only way in was to cut through, hence the chainsaw. Once we were inside, things became quite . . . odd. Walls kept moving, and we were forced to remain close together, or else risk being separated.

Wall after wall, I cut through until I found a door and cut through that as well. We arrived in an attic where Buffy, Xander, Willow, Oz and other party revelers were gathered. I feel I should mention the costumes, because I bloody love costumes! Buffy was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. Xander looked surprisingly well in a black tie tuxedo. Despite being American, he claimed that he was James Bond, a national treasure to Great Britain, I might add. Regardless of how tailored the suit was, I do not trust my nation's security to Xander Harris. Willow had chosen to dress as the legendary Joan of Arc. I am not sure if she was aware that Joan was also a Slayer, but the irony was quite amusing to me. Though if Willow wanted to wear armor, she could have asked me. I have a few pieces in my collection. Finally, I did not at first think Oz was wearing a costume. Then I caught sight of his nametag. Oz was God. His was the most hilarious.

Upon entering the attic, I immediately took the book the gang was pouring over and saw that the Mark of Gachnar had been painted onto the attic floor. Somehow, it had been activated, and was now feeding on the fear from those within the house. Gachnar had, as of yet, been unable to manifest completely, so we had a chance to simply end the summoning spell and return the house to normal. Whilst I read the instructions on just how to do so, my overzealous Slayer marched right to the symbol on the floor and destroyed it. Buffy is, at times, a tad too violent.

Normally, this is an excellent thing to be. In this regard, however, it proved to be . . . ill-advised. Breaking the mark on the floor immediately brought forth Gachnar. A fear demon, Gachnar possessed the abilities to manifest our fears . . . make them real and deadly. He had immense power . . . and was the size of my thumb. Perhaps a little taller, though not by much. We were all surprised when Gachnar appeared, his voice tiny and quite . . . well . . . squeaky. Had he been our size, he would have been fearsome and alarming.

He was not. Buffy merely stepped on him, and that was the end of Gachnar, the fear demon.

Afterwards, we spent the rest of the night at my house. I rather thought they'd leave at some point, but they remain. I offered them the rest of my candy, as my hands are still jittery from all of the sugar. They took on the challenge quite happily. The last that I checked, I only had one bag left, and I'm quite certain they emptied that one as well. All I can hear is even breathing and light snoring, though. I think they've all fallen asleep on my sofa and armchair. So much for taking them home.

Ah well. Provided they didn't drool or melt any chocolate on my furniture or books, I'm happy they're here. I'm reminded of the hours we spent together locked in the library. Not the sleeping part, but simply their combined presence. Perhaps it's the late hour, or the low after eating so much chocolate, but I'm suddenly feeling rather ridiculously emotional. I had best head to bed before I make a scene.

Dear lord, I hope chocolate hangovers don't exist.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	61. Beer Bad

A drunk Slayer is a terrifying Slayer.

Particularly when one discovers that the Slayer's alcoholic beverages have been laced with some sort of temporary spell that reduces her cognitive functions to something . . . prehistoric. Cavewoman. Buffy became a cavewoman. She was not alone in this regression either. Some mates she had been drinking with—and who had obviously consumed more alcohol than her—had also reverted to a caveman state. They, in fact, became actual cavemen. Their skulls protruded in a fashion similar to the pre-evolutionary state that is normal today. They even had long hair and terrible dentistry.

As Buffy did not consume as much as the boys, her appearance remained mostly unchanged, save for the terrifying nest that became her hair. Her speech was impeded, and she was capable of only uttering a few syllables at a time. "Buffy strong, want people, want beer, boy smell nice" to name a few phrases. The culprit behind this transformation was the bartender himself. Xander, who took up a bar-keeping position this week—though it's highly unlikely he'll keep the job—informed me that his boss was fed up with the behavior from some of the college aged regulars.

True, there is often a pomposity that attaches itself to most university campuses and its students, but a more level-headed individual would simply shrug it off and continue with ones duties. Especially if one's dependency of income rested on those pompous college-aged patrons. Instead, the bartender asked his brother-in-law to show him a potion of mischief, since his brother-in-law is, apparently, a Warlock. According to the bartender, the potion should wear off in a few days.

I certainly hope so, because we all agreed that Buffy would be safest in my home. I now have two broken lamps, a pillow that needs new cushioning, books that need to be replaced on their according shelves, three ripped curtains and no food. My patience with my Slayer is running extremely thin. This has only been the first night. If the Council ever wished to test the compatibility between Watcher and Slayer, all they needed to do was give the Slayer this potion and lock them in their Watcher's abode. If both came out alive, I'd consider the test to be a success.

Buffy is currently—finally—asleep on the sofa. I dare not make much noise, for fear of waking her. It's as if I have a dinosaur in my sitting room. If she awakes, she'll either turn her grouchy fury on me, or destroy more of my property. I really ought to look into purchasing bookcases that can be locked. If she harms any of my books—anymore than she already has—I shall . . . I shall be most cross with her. Indeed, she'll receive quite the stern and heated lecturing.

I was not aware of this situation until Xander appeared at my door around nine o'clock. He informed me that Buffy might be in trouble due to this potion-laced beer she had been drinking. Naturally, I was cross that Xander had given her any alcohol at all. She's under-aged, for starters. He knew better than that. Since Buffy—at least to my knowledge—hasn't ever really touched alcohol before, she was naturally going to have small tolerance to it. At least, I think so. Now that I think about it, perhaps her Slayer metabolism would have burned right through it, having little effect. Interesting.

At any rate, I joined Xander to check on Buffy, and we found her in her dormitory, drawing people and animals and shapes on the wall in a manner reminiscent of cave drawings. She kept uttering the same thing over and over, "Parker bad." At this time, I had no idea who Parker was, but apparently Buffy had been quite upset over him for a few weeks. I learned that Parker had been your standard college boy and picked Buffy up for casual sex, and then dropped her after the deed.

My sweet Slayer, who often thinks with her heart, expected some sort of relationship to occur after the fact. When that did not occur, she became slightly depressed and fixated on the boy. Due to the paternal affection I hold for Buffy, when I saw Parker later this evening after having learned of this, it was a bloody good thing that Buffy had knocked him out cold. She gave him a mercy compared to what I would have done to him.

No one hurts my Slayer. Especially a punk Casanova like Parker.

I suppose I can only hope that this experience has taught Buffy to guard her heart more carefully. Parker is hardly the last of his breed. I was like him once, even. At that age, thoughts of commitment and long-lasting relationships weren't something that interested in me. Sex was the game and having as much of it as I possibly could. Thankfully, I've matured and now find myself desiring what was once so unflattering to me. Intriguing what a couple of years will suddenly change.

To return to the evening, after Xander and I found Buffy, and I inspected just how low her IQ had become, I attempted to keep Buffy from going after more beer. She did not like that and threw me against the wall. Thankfully, I remained conscious, though I've a nice bump on the back of my head from the experience. Buffy ran off, and Xander and I chased her down. Well, Xander chased her down. I was still trying to find her, having gone off in the other direction. Describing someone as a cavewoman without actually saying 'cavewoman' in an effort to keep the calm, is extremely challenging, I must say.

With some luck, I found the others outside of a building that had been lit on fire from within. Buffy, even despite her impairment, had rushed in and was pulling out people. The cavemen, Buffy's drinking pals, had apparently set the fire. Xander managed to lock them in someone's car. I feel quite poorly for the owner of that car. Never mind the physical destruction likely done to the seats, but cavemen tended to . . . err . . . relieve themselves . . . where they stood. I hope they all had empty bladders.

Willow was one of the individuals trapped in the building. Buffy saved her as well as Parker. Then, as I said before, knocked Parker out with a branch afterwards. Quite pleased. Bravo, Buffy. Afterwards, we drove Buffy here, and here she now remains. Willow promised she'd stop by tomorrow to check on Buffy. I'm hoping she'll take her out to the park and walk her or something. I need to repair the damage.

She's lucky I love her.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	62. Wild at Heart

We've lost a member of our gang today.

Oz has broken with us and is on his way . . . well . . . I'm not exactly sure where. The loss is felt keenly to all of us, but none more so than Willow. The poor girl has been through Hell this week. To put it simply, even though it likely really isn't that simple considering Oz's condition, Oz was unfaithful to Willow. True, that this occurred in his wolf form, but I think we are all of the mind that on some level, Oz was conscious of his decision to stray from Willow.

The Other Woman, as it were, is a werewolf as well. I met her briefly at the Bronze. Yes, I went to the Bronze. After the uncomfortable reception I received there, however, I'm not entirely sure I'll return. Never mind that I was the only adult—besides the bartender—present, I had thought of joining my young friends for a night of drinking and listening to bands. Also, never mind that this was mostly due to the increasing feeling of stagnation remaining at home is giving to me. I thought a night out with Buffy and the others would make me feel less . . . bored and . . . stuck. It did not. It was horrible. Everyone was looking at me, obviously wondering why I was there and why I wasn't leaving. Only Oz supported my decision to be there. Naturally.

Anyway, whilst I was there, Veruca, the werewolf Oz slept with, was singing on stage. I did not know it then, though I felt it. There was something in her voice that made one stand to attention. There was an odd—at the time—primal cadence and pull in her music. I thought she was quite gifted. Later, when I was told that Veruca was a werewolf, my reactions to her music made a great deal of sense. Wolves are notorious for howling. Whether it be for work or pleasure, to them, it is music. It only makes sense that a werewolf—when in a human form—would have a natural pull and skill in music. I imagine that her singing calls more deeply to those who share her condition. Oz was affected greatly by it.

To the extent that he then later slept with her. How many times, we are not sure, but it doesn't really matter. He betrayed Willow. Buffy and I were aware that there were two werewolves running about campus. She came to my home the day of the full moon and informed me that her Professor of Psychology, Professor Walsh, had been attacked by two wild dogs. Large, wild dogs. Since I was having verbal fights with the quiz show I was watching on the telly, I was quite happy that Buffy had arrived to give me this piece of information.

She went off to question Oz, and I pulled what resources I could to see if there was any record of other dog attacks the night prior as well as in the past few months. As of yet, we had only known of one werewolf living in Sunnydale. This second werewolf was a mystery until Willow found her locked in with Oz—and in Oz's arms. I've only just became aware of all this heartbreak. Buffy came over—and only just left—to bring me up to date. Suffice it to say, I've stopped searching for news of a second werewolf.

Veruca had attempted to kill Willow after her affair with Oz was discovered. Oz came in and stopped Veruca, changing in the processor. She is now dead. Oz nearly attacked Willow as well, lost to the mind of the wolf, but Buffy charged in at that moment and tranquilized him. Apparently, Buffy was delayed by a new player on the field. There was a man dressed in military garb packed with some rather expensive equipment. Buffy had a brief tangle with him, before running after Oz and saving Willow. This new . . . commando, for lack of better word, is a rather curious figure. What is his purpose? Is it for ill or good? Apparently, this is not the first time Buffy has encountered him either. She informed me that she saw him and two others on Halloween. Considering that they are likely government funded, I hope they are on our side. I'd hate to have Buffy up against firepower like that. Though, if government-run organizations have taught me anything, it's that something usually goes wrong, or something is incredibly illegal.

That is a matter we shall simply have to keep an eye on though. We can't do much else. What we can do, however, is try to help our injured Willow. As I said before, Oz has left Sunnydale. Willow is trapped in a grief so severe, it's reminiscent of the time Buffy ran off for LA. While I don't think Willow is the sort to run off somewhere she doesn't know, I do think we need to keep an eye on her. I'm placed in a rather confusing position. Though I like to think that I'm sort of the paternal archetype to all of my Scoobies, I am also a male. Willow may not want anything to do with a male at the moment—comfort or otherwise.

I'm quite upset over this entire affair. I thoroughly enjoyed Oz. His unique perspective on life was always refreshing and intriguing. Also, he was the only who had an inkling of musical taste that was compatible with my own. Yet, I cannot forgive him for what he did to Willow. A gentle soul like hers should not have to experience such travesty. Though I'm sure it will likely take far more than this, I intend on stopping by Buffy and Willow's dorm tomorrow with a box of donuts for Willow. If anything, it will serve as an invitation for her to speak with me if she ever wishes to or needs it. I know her mother is rather of the insane sort. I'm not solely there for Buffy's troubles.

I can carry Willow's, too.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	63. The Initiative

It would appear that my usefulness has dwindled down to a wisdom tooth.

Which is to say, I am not useful at all. I began my day with sketching—painstakingly, I might add—what I imagined the military infiltrator that Buffy ran into the other day might look like. I think I mostly did this because I am horrendously and irrevocably . . . bored. It appears that sketching is what my great intellect is now used for. And I'm certainly no Da Vinci. Xander was with me during the time I was drawing, mooching off of my food. I can't really bring myself to be too irritated with him, however. He's the only Scooby who spends any really time with me anymore. **How far I have fallen, I know.**

Since this military figure is, indeed, human, Xander and I had no reason to dig into any research. When he realized that we would be, once more, sitting on the sidelines, Xander suggested they summon up some evil force that we all might contend with. Though I am becoming increasingly desperate to feel more useful, I have not yet reached the stage of unleashing an evil on the world just so Buffy can utilize me. **Xander might be stupid enough to do it though, so I ought to keep an eye on him.**

Buffy did stop by shortly after I completed my drawing and confirmed that it was similar to the man she had seen. She also gave us orders to patrol to snoop around and see if we could uncover any more information on this gentleman. Not to make us feel important either, no, but because she was attending a party with Willow. Dear Willow is still trapped in a state of despair. Besides her classes, she has taken to holing up inside of her room and laying listlessly on the bed. Fixating on her misery is no way to heal. I'm beginning to hope something happens quickly, so that it will force Willow to deal with something else, allowing her mind and heart the distraction it needs to begin the healing process. Perhaps this party Buffy is taking her to will serve as a distraction as well. A less lethal one. Buffy's remark of needing to find something 'slutty' to wear, however, both me wildly uncomfortable and extremely protective. Both of my girls at a party wearing 'slutty' attire? Recipe for disaster. I should have offered Buffy a potato sack. Less trouble that way. Or, better yet, I could just attempt to institute a form of chastity belt for the male population on campus. They'd be safer that way, and I wouldn't have to hear Buffy's griping about the lack of fashion in a potato sack.

. . . . Clearly, I have spent too much time being unproductive.

With our new orders, I went with Xander to his home under home to acquire a few patrol necessities. Apparently, he requisitioned a few items during the brief time he lived as an army soldier. His basement is atrocious. It's smelly, damp and crowded. I'd likely either go insane from the place, or become woefully depressed. I don't know why Xander doesn't just his own place. There's plenty of flats available around, and plenty of jobs to acquire rent money from. Perhaps it's due to the fact that Xander keeps switching employment every few weeks. Good for the experience, terrible for the wallet. I have no issues with his mother though. Xander often complains about them, and I found her to be quite charming. A bit loud, perhaps, but she had manners. She offered Xander and myself some fruit punch, and it just so happened to be my favorite kind of fruit punch—raspberry. And his mother certainly knows how to make a flavorful fruit punch. I now have a gallon of it sitting in my fridge. I am not ashamed of this.

Once Xander and I loaded up with a flare gun—that I needed to load for him—and a few other items, we staked out on campus. It was uneventful. For me, at least. Xander was prattling on about some nonsense, and I suggested we split up. All of his talking was giving me a headache. I searched the South side of Campus and found nothing save snogging college students, drunk college students and trash. So much trash. Apparently, Xander had a more entertaining search. He came across the vampire Harmony, who was reportedly burning Spike's personal effects. The two scuffled, and she told him that Spike was after Buffy.

After Xander had acquired Buffy from the party, we reconvened at my place. Buffy has since left to go find Spike and put a stop to any mayhem he might be causing. As always, Spike is a concern. I have not forgotten that he has killed two Slayers in the past. Though Buffy has come out on top each fight, there's only a matter of time before her luck runs out . . . or his. Xander has just left as well, to check for a flare signal from Buffy if she requires help. Even if she does flare for help, the likelihood of either Xander or I arriving in time is extremely low. No, I'm afraid the Slayer must fight Spike as every other Slayer has done before her.

Alone.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	64. Pangs

I think I rather like the American tradition of Thanksgiving—evil Native American spirits not withstanding.

Simply put, there's a great deal of food. Excellent food. Though England has never truly faced a famine—as of late—our stores look quite barren compared to the food wealth that is America. Shelves are packed with food of numerous variety. The time around the fourth Thursday in the month of November, that bounty is even more expressed. Though I have always been aware of the American holiday of Thanksgiving, I have never once participated. I didn't exactly understand it. One consumes food and watches American football, an exceedingly boring game compared to the swiftness of football and barbarity of rugby.

So, when Buffy came to my home, informing me—not asking—that we were going to have Thanksgiving at my home, I was quite surprised and at a loss. In England, we don't have a scheduled Thanksgiving, per se. We have numerous harvest festivals that are sometimes separated on different days, according to region, or even one's own personal schedule. For example, one might not attend the harvest festival in one's own town, but one might choose to celebrate it at the next town over or something. Food is a key part, of course, it being the harvest festival and all. Normally, it is celebrated either in the month of September or October, depending on when the harvest moon is scheduled. Traditionally, churches play a key part in the harvest festival. Historically, it was where they were held, primarily to give thanks for the good harvest that was received. At these events, collections of food are held which are given to local charities for the homeless and those in need.

This American Thanksgiving, however, is quite different. I've found that it runs deeper than just delicious food. But more on that later. As always, we faced quite a crisis during the holiday. It began with the opening of a mission that had been buried underground during an earthquake in 1812. Xander was there when it happened and had actually fallen into the mission. This opening unleashed a vengeance spirit named Hus.

Hus was a part of the Chumash tribe, a people indigenous to this area. As Willow found out, the Chumash were peaceful until the arrival of settlers. Violent warfare broke out, and with the settlers' advanced weaponry, the Native Americans—as Buffy adamantly expressed I learn the new terminology—were slaughtered. Some were trapped into that mission which was full of European diseases. Thus, we discovered that Xander was actually ill with syphilis, though its origins was mystical and not biological. The settlers also accused a group of Chumash of stealing their cattle. They were killed, their ears removed to show to the accusers that they had been eliminated.

Hus, thus, was inflicting vengeance on those who had opened the mission. A Dean was killed, as well as Father Gabriel, a local historian. Both of their ears were removed. It was clear that Hus was recreating the wrongs done to his people. Willow was quite upset over the whole ordeal. She wished to aid the spirit and correct the wrongs. An idealistic and good-hearted desire . . . but Willow does not understand that this spirit has already been corrupted by hate and vengeance. It cannot be anything else. No amount of gift-giving, apologizing or self-flagellation would appease it. The spirit was here—and existed—for one purpose—to destroy those who it deemed responsible for the death and savagery shown to its people. More than that, the spirit had already killed innocent people. These people were not responsible for the crimes their ancestors committed, if their ancestors were even the ones to wield the weapons. Dress it up as one might like, in the end it is still murder. Still, it was a relief to see Willow so fired up about something. She hasn't been this worked up since . . . well, before Oz left. I know I said I wanted a distraction for her, well, we certainly received one.

My concerns also rested with Buffy. Angel had come to me from LA, telling me that a friend of his had received a vision—a nasty one—about Buffy. As always, the vision was not specific enough to tell us what the danger was about, but he was adamant in ensuring that Buffy was safe. I rather thought he could just go back to LA with his message delivered, but he insisted of remaining and looking after Buffy until this ordeal with the Chumash was resolved. Though I was rather occupied during the fight with the Chumash, Angel was apparently there aiding. Since then, he has disappeared once more. This sort of dropping by isn't conducive to Buffy's heart. I do wish he'd just stay away. There are such things as telephones now.

Throughout this entire investigation into the Chumash, Buffy was nearly off of her head about Thanksgiving. She ordered us to do this with the Chumash, and then ensure we were stirring properly all in one breath. How her mind works like that, I haven't the faintest clue. I've never seen Buffy so incredibly domestic before. Stepping back, I can't help but see the sort of woman she'd have grown up to be had she not been called as the Slayer. Maternal to the core. Protecting, feeding . . . though not cleaning. She left that entirely up to me.

Another surprise came in the form of a desperate and fearful Spike. He was hiding underneath a thick blanket to avoid being exposed to the sun. He was quite frantic that we should let him into my home as a place of refuge. I rather think we should have staked him then and there. He'd be out of our hair at last. Instead, he said he had information about the military soldiers we'd been searching for, and so Buffy allowed him entry. I'm still not entirely pleased by this decision. Spike can now enter my house. I'd rather like to control the vampire traffic in my home.

Buffy tied him to a chair, and he immediately started whining and complaining. Spike is likely the biggest grown baby I have ever met. He can guess again if he thinks he's staying here long. Once he has told us his information, he's either out the front door, or a pile of ash. I . . . dislike Spike. Heavily. Not just because of his fixation on Buffy either. He reminds me . . . of who I would have been had I never stopped being Ripper. The similarities are too great, and it causes me great distress to spend much time with him. I'm too heavily reminded of myself . . . just minus the blood-sucking, poor hair style and demon.

Anyway, whilst Willow, Anya and Xander ran off to check on another possible victim of Hus', we were attacked at home. Hus had managed to raise other vengeance spirits, and my house was quite literally under siege. Buffy was shot with an arrow, Spike by many arrows—woefully, none pierced his heart—and I was happily battered against the wall via my head. The others arrived at some point, and the fighting was quite . . . violent. Weapons, fists, furniture . . . everything was used. I have a rather livid bruise on the side of my head where the Chumash warrior I was fighting had attempted to bash my skull in.

At some point, Buffy made Hus turn into a bear. I do recall that. The roar was terrifying. Additionally, you know, there was a bear _in my house._ Xander distracted the bear, and Buffy gave it a good stab. Hus dissipated along with the other spirits . . . and we won. My house was rather destroyed, but we won. I think I might have a concussion, but we won. Xander might have accidentally let it slip that Angel was here to Buffy, but we won.

Our attention was turned to finishing up dinner at that point. The food was laid, and we all settled into a well-earned and hearty meal. I think I understood Thanksgiving when Willow mentioned that our fighting all together was just like old times . . . and it was exactly those old times that I missed. Not the fighting, per se, but the sense of family. The knowledge that we all have each other's backs, no matter what the crisis may be. I've never felt this sort of familial belonging in the Watcher Council, or really ever in England . . . but here, in this American town named Sunnydale, I've found it. I suppose I'm rather envious of the American tradition of Thanksgiving. It's about family and friends. It's about being part of a family.

And I've found one here with my Scoobies.

 **Even Xander.**

-Rupert Giles

1999


	65. Something Blue

I think I have had the oddest, ludicrous day of my life.

It begins with Buffy and Spike almost becoming married. It rather ends there, too, as that thought very nearly drove me mad. In fact, I thought I had become mad. That isn't even the beginning, however. I've had to take a day to fully comprehend all that happened, and I still can't process it completely. After gaining information from everyone involved, I think I finally know how to pen this down.

I shall begin with Willow. Still quite distraught over Oz, she devised a spell to make her will become fact. So, anything she said, became true. Willow explained that her intentions were to forcibly end the heartache she was experiencing. Naturally, that did not work itself, though the rest of the spell worked well enough. It simply did not work on her.

Enter . . . myself. Willow was to aid me with performing a truth spell that would force the information about the military organization on campus from Spike's lips. He was being extraordinarily annoying in his role as captive and informant. We chained him up in my tub—which using the loo, mind, has been an incredibly awkward experience since—and fed him there. Buffy's form of interrogation is quite . . . unrefined. She taunted him, which only drove him into frustration, and thus became more tight-lipped about what he knew. Willow suggested performing a truth spell. I agreed, and she promised to come back the next day with the necessary ingredients. She did not do so.

With Spike becoming increasingly irritating—he's become obsessed with the show, _Passions_ —I was disappointed and put off that Willow did not show as we had agreed. So, I stopped by her dorm the next day and spoke to her. My intention was to remind her that we couldn't shirk our duties because we're depressed. Returning to work, putting one's mind to use, is often a way that might aid relief from depression. Willow became quite upset with me and told me I couldn't see anything. And thus the spell was cast. In a matter of hours, I was entirely blind. It's a frightening and disorienting experience, let me tell you. I've ran into so many corners and tables and furniture. I've collected bruises from the waist down because of these bumps.

That it was only a temporary blindness, I am infinitely grateful. For the most part, because I could no longer read. I'd teach myself Braille, of course, but it wouldn't be the same to have carefully inked words pass through my vision and mind. Lettering and chirography is such an art, and I was then unable to participate in appreciating its art. It also occurred to me that in my state, I was unable to offer Buffy any form of physical assistance when it came to battling her enemies. I'd be truly retired from the cause. It was a depressing notion, and I decided to get well and thoroughly sloshed.

This was also brought on by what occurred with Buffy and Spike. From all accounts, Willow made a remark of how Buffy should just go and marry Spike. I believe she was upset because Buffy put off spending time with her to chase down Spike, who had escaped from my home during my eyesight crisis. Regardless, she said it, and so it happened. Spike proposed to Buffy and Buffy accepted. I know. I was there and heard it with my own ears. It was at this moment, that I truly began to question my own sanity. Naturally, it only became worse. The two wouldn't stop _snogging._ It wasn't even respectable, quiet snogging either. No, it was loud, wet, smacking and mauling in surround sound snogging. They wouldn't stop either, no. Even when they became aware of my repulsion, they just kept . . . going at it.

They're both horrified now. Serves them right, putting me through something like that. Spike is detestable, and I am relieved to have Buffy back in her right mind. The mind that agrees with Spike's deplorability. Snogging Buffy. A creature like that deserves to snog fire ants. Hell Fire Ants with extra buffalo sauce.

In regards to Xander, Willow told him that was a demon magnet . . . and so became a demon magnet. He and Anya were attacked in his basement. They fled to my home, and it was here that Xander pieced together why all of this incredulous activity was occurring. Willow. Her spell had worked, just only on us. Since I was thoroughly blind at this point, the others ran off to have her reverse the spell. I continued to drink.

Buffy debriefed me on what happened since then. They ran to the dormitory where they found a burned mark onto the ground. Anya recognized it as the mark of D'Hoffryn. He is the demon who heads the vengeance demons. Anya's former boss, essentially. He offered Willow a job, since her spell had caused so much misery among her friends, but—thankfully—Willow turned him down. I can't imagine why she would take the job, though I am relieved that D'Hoffryn didn't press her, or torture her until she relented. Instead, he allowed her to leave, and Willow appeared in the crypt where Buffy and the others were fighting off demons.

She reversed the spell, and the effect was nearly immediate. My vision took a bit of time to return, but I can now see perfectly. Or . . . rather . . . as much as I could before the spell. It would have been a blessing to have 20/20, but I suppose the thought slipped her mind. To make amends, Willow has been baking cookies non-stop. Delicious cookies, I might add. I asked for additional compensation, as I am still suffering emotional and psychological trauma over the Buffy/Spike affair. So, Willow has agreed to detail my car. I also receive an extra batch of cookies.

That was my adventure in a nutshell. Even seeing it on a page . . . I can't believe it all happened. I suppose one aspect I can concentrate on without horror or dismay, is the moment when Buffy told me she wanted me to give her away at her wedding. Instead of her father. She said the ceremony was about family, and then subtly insinuated that I am more of a father to her than her actual father. I'm deeply touched to be given such a place of honor in her life. It's something I treasure and find comfort and purpose in. I may not be her first go-to when it comes to demons anymore, but I think I can be content in knowing that her affection matches my own. No matter where life might lead us, we will always be connected to one another in this regard. I'll always be there to walk her down an aisle.

Stake in hand, if the groom is Spike.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	66. Hush

The entire town of Sunnydale has lost their voice.

I'm not suggesting a case of laryngitis like the News either. No one is sick. We are just completely incapable of making any vocal sound. It's alarming. Even I, who appreciate the magnitude of silence, has found this situation to be uncomfortable and chilling. I suppose one doesn't fully appreciate the spoken language until it is forcibly wrenched from oneself.

We're still unclear how this has all happened. Yesterday, everything was normal. Spike was being his usual free-loading self, and I shipped him off to Xander's for the week, since Olivia was stopping by. I suppose this silence is a blessing in one regard. I no longer have to listen to Anya and Xander's incredibly open arguments about their relationship and . . . erm . . . sex life. The latter, in particular, is something I am extremely keen on remaining in ignorance. Anya, in particular, lacks a social filter. I understand that she spent centuries as a demon, but it's difficult for me to believe that during that entire time one completely forgot how to socialize. Or, rather, knew what topics should _not_ be socialized.

Though there was a great deal of arguing over Spike spending his days over at Xander's, I managed to finally remove them all from my home. I spent my time researching a poem that Buffy heard in one of her dreams. It goes as follows:

' _Can't even shout._

 _Can't even cry._

 _The Gentlemen are coming by._

 _Looking in windows, knocking on doors._

 _They need to take seven_

 _And they might take yours._

 _Can't call to Mom._

 _Can't say a word._

 _You're gonna die screaming_

 _But you won't be heard.'_

Rather chilling, really. Nothing quite like Poe, but still . . . it does make a shiver run up one's spine. This was the poem Buffy heard in her dream. I've since been attempting to place it. Thus far, I haven't found any cult or demon organization with such a poetic entrance. My research had been temporarily put to the side when Olivia showed up at my door. Her flight had the gall to show a film about baseball for the passengers' entertainment. Suffice it to say, Olivia had some excess . . . err . . . aggression . . . to work out.

Which she did. Um. Frequently.

Anyway, sometime during the night, our voices disappeared or . . . or were taken. Something. Everyone gathered at my place, checking in and whatnot. We've taken to communicating through Dry Erase Whiteboards. Desperate times, I suppose. I suggests Charades, but I suppose we're in too much of a hurry. It was at this meeting that we heard the Newscast. It was station outside of Sunnydale reporting on the situation. It was almost odd to hear someone talking. This reporter said that Sunnydale had been quarantined because of a laryngitis outbreak. Cock and bull. Truly.

Buffy is going out patrolling, but I'm just so lost in this case. I have no idea what this could possibly be. I haven't read any event of this sort happening in the other Watcher diaries I've read. It's going to be another late night. Particularly because Olivia is giving me that look again . . . More later.

* * *

We have our first visual on what could be behind the voice loss. Olivia, who had woken in the middle of the night, went downstairs and happened to glance out at the window. What she saw, she couldn't even describe to me in words. I've just seen her drawing, and it's something quite horrific. The newspaper also reported on two deaths in the night. Both individuals had had their hearts removed . . . Oh dear lord. I think I've got it . . .

* * *

I knew this whole ordeal had a touch of fairy to it!

After my stroke of inspiration, I took down one of the many books on fairytales I own. Sure enough, I found a tale about The Gentlemen within. I made a projector presentation for the Scoobies—with my own talented artwork, I must say—but I'll simply write down the gist here. See the attached folder for my drawings. Buffy demanded I throw the one of her out, though I'm not sure why. Something about her hips? It's a dress. I thought it looked pretty. Anyway, The Gentlemen. They come to a town and steal all the voices. With the help of their henchmen, The Footmen, they take the hearts of carefully selected victims. They need seven hearts. I imagine this extends their life force or something, though the fairytale itself failed to mention the exact reason. The only way to kill them is the sound of a human voice. In the fairytale, the princess screamed, and it killed them all. So, Buffy needed to find whatever or wherever the voices were being kept, and then use her newly acquired voice to destroy them.

She was successful. Or she must have been, anyway, as we can all talk again. I assume Buffy should be stopping by at any moment to discuss last night's events. On my part, after sending Buffy into battle, I returned here with the others . . . well, more accurately, Anya and Spike came over whilst Xander did something or other. When Xander joined us, he must have thought Spike had killed Anya, for Olivia and I heard the sounds of fighting and saw Xander beating up Spike. Anya stopped him, and the two . . . well . . . snogged, a bit. It was a touching moment. Key word here is moment. Because Anya rather ruined it by making a rude gesture, and the two went off to . . . well . . . do what they seem unable to stop doing.

Moving on from that before I'm driven insane, I feel I should address the issue regarding Olivia. Never before has she been so directly involved in the sort of life that I lead. She had a taste of the danger and darkness of the world that I operate in. Of the world that I wage battles in. I attempted to casually ask her if this life was too scary for her . . . and she replied that she did not know. I think she was being kind in not telling me directly that it was, in fact, too scary. She's taking a nap now after the awkward conversation was over.

I won't deny that our frequent visits of one another had started to kindle something in me that I had hoped might be something stronger . . . and shared between the two of us. Take out the supernatural aspect of my life, and we're compatible in almost every way. I fancy her. I fancy her a great deal . . . but I don't think she's prepared to live in this world that I inhabit. Olivia, bless her, is a simple soul. She likes her life simple, the sex simple, her food and alcoholic beverages simple. It was this simplicity that drew me in, initially. A life entirely devoid of monsters under the bed, or concerns of the next brewing apocalypse. There was just living and experiencing life.

After Jenny, I wasn't sure I'd be able to love again. Not romantically. Then Olivia showed up out of the blue, a welcome face from my past, and I began to believe that I might not need to walk in this world alone. She hasn't said yes . . . or no. But I have a feeling when she wakes from her nap, she's going to tell me that something happened back home, and she's going to have to leave for London early. She'll tell me she'll give me a call . . . that she'll look forward to doing this again . . . and then I won't hear from her ever again. It will be a silent agreement: That this world is not for her. Since I cannot leave this world, I am, thus, not for her.

I can't begrudge her on this decision. There are some people who cannot handle the truth. We fight in the dark, so people like Olivia can always remain in the light. I had just so hoped . . . Ah well. The Gentlemen were defeated.

When Olivia wakes, we'll likely have a very important conversation.

Or just silence.

-Rupert Giles

1999


	67. Doomed

Per usual, an apocalypse rears its ugly head, and I find myself barely able to use any of my limbs.

Oh, and I was requested by Buffy personally to state: I was wrong about the earthquake. Buffy was right. I do not know everything in the universe, and so I should listen to my Slayer more often. Especially in regards to earthquakes.

In my defense, we do live in California, where an earthquake is not uncommon. Just because the ground shakes, it doesn't mean evil is about to sprout forth with a massive army. Though, in this case, I was in the wrong. The earthquake was a portent of evil. The breed of demon this time around is called a Vahrall demon. Ugly things, really. Strong, too, especially when working in a pack. I speak from personal experience.

Their sole interest rested in opening up the hellmouth. Yes, the one underneath the destroyed library in the equally destroyed high school. To enact this, they needed to perform The Sacrifice of Three. It requires the blood of man. They obtained this by killing a college student and draining him of his blood, whilst carving a symbol onto his chest. Willow discovered the body. She managed to describe the symbol to us in between fits of incredulity about being called a nerd by a former student she tutored in high school. Really, I don't understand her consternation about it. In my humble, biased opinion, all should endeavor to be nerds.

The ritual also required the bones of a child. Buffy reported that she saw one of the demons obtaining this from a crypt that bore the same symbol that had been etched into the boy's skin. The last item they required was a talisman called The Word of Valios. The fault here rests with me. I didn't realize that I had the Word of Valios until I saw a picture of it. A few summers ago, I went to an estate sale. The estate was owned by a sorcerer, and so naturally, I went in the hope of purchasing a few rare ingredients, perhaps an unique paperweight or something.

I found this little talisman and asked the sorcerer about it. He told me that it The Word of Valios and spoke so grandly about it, that I was sure he was just giving me a sales pitch. I haggled the price, and bought it, thinking it was just a knock off. It was not a knock off. Just as I came to that realization, I was attacked. Three Vahrall demons stormed into my home and gave me a sound beating. I did punch a few times. I rather like to think I weakened them a tad for Buffy and the others.

But they certainly won the battle. Let's see, my arm is sprained. I have bruises everywhere. Oh, and a fantastic set of claw marks slashed across the side of my face. If I scar over, I'll look quite intimidating . . . but I don't think the scratches went deep enough to scar, unfortunately. All the same, despite my wounds, I survived to tell the tale. The demons must have been in a hurry, or else I'm certain they would have finished me off. Xander, Willow and Spike discovered me at home first. They helped me off of the floor and rest on the sofa. Willow was even kind enough to make a pack for my head, which as I'm sure you can imagine, was pounding from all the pounding it received.

Once Buffy joined us, I informed them that the ritual was to open up the hellmouth, which would bring about the apocalypse. Since I was too injured to fight, I remained at home, and the four of them—Buffy, Spike, Willow and Xander—went off to put a stop to it. Once more, they kept another apocalypse from occurring. The world owes them their thanks yet again, but the Scoobies shall never hear it. Just as the world shall never know how grateful it ought to be to this band of misfits.

Excuse the short and succinct entry, my arm is barely allowing me to write as it is. I shall simply end with—

 _Giles was wrong, and Buffy was right._

Buffy, please, get your own journal.

 _GILES WAS WRONG, AND BUFFY WAS RIGHT._

Stop crowding, you're going to upset my tea. Stop this nonsense.

 _SLAYER-1, WATCHER-0._

Actually, it's more accurately, Watcher-350, Slayer-3.

 _Aww, is someone getting too old to do math these days? Hey, what else is in this diary?_

. . . It's a journal.

 _Diary. It's totally a diary._

Buffy, go away.

 _Buffy the Vampire Slayer here. Rupert Giles keeps a diary. Happy New Years Eve!_

If we survive the night to make it into the new millennium. But yes. A Happy New Year Eve to all.

-Rupert Giles

 _(and Buffy Summers!)_

1999


	68. A New Man

Today, I was a Fyral demon.

Honestly, of all the things for Ethan to change me into, he had to go with a Fyral? He could have turned me into a dragon, for goodness sake! Of course, had he done that, I'd have likely burned him alive, and then went off to England to find some abandoned castle to live in. Or a centaur. That would have been an interesting experience. I'd have even taken a unicorn. A very masculine unicorn, of course.

To explain how this came about, I must begin with Buffy's surprise birthday party. Yes, it was her birthday, and Xander and Willow decided throw a surprise party for her. I had rather thought a private birthday with her mother would have been more intimate and appropriate, but I suppose Willow and Xander are both in that college-state of mind: The bigger and louder the party is, the more successful and enjoyable it will be. Perhaps this is true for the young folk, but I found myself feeling rather left out. I didn't know three-quarters of those in attendance. I spent most of the party quietly eating snacks and tucking myself away to get out of the path of raucous young adults.

Xander and Anya spoke to me for awhile, but then Anya complained about her hunger. So, they left. Then Willow spoke to me for a few, and then left. Finally, Buffy came along with a strapping fellow at her side, and I was introduced to . . . Buffy's boyfriend. Riley. Apparently, she had a boyfriend. In fact, she's had a boyfriend for a few weeks, but never bothered to tell me. As the patriarch figure in this circle, aren't I the one to tell when dating begins? Is my approval meaningless now? Apparently, since I was neither told about his relationship with Buffy, nor the fact that Riley is part of the military organization prowling the campus—The Initiative.

Indeed, I only discovered this last element the next night. Willow and Xander let it slip after they joined me on what was supposed to be a Slaying of the demon Prince Barvain. Apparently, though, the Initiative already took care of the demon Prince Barvain. No one bothered to tell me that either. Never mind, of course, that I have spent weeks trying to figure out who and what the military organization was. Buffy's boyfriend is a part of it! Quite an important part of it, in fact! Add to this, it's headed by Professor Maggie Walsh, the single most offensive woman I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Harridan and fishwife hardly do her justice.

I stopped in to visit with her earlier that day, as I was looking for Buffy to join us for the whole Prince Barvain ordeal. Not to mention, Buffy had spoken of her before, and she made Walsh sound quite intelligent and witty. I wished to meet this woman who had Buffy's such high favor for myself . . . and found a woman completely off base. She dared to call me an absent male role model! Ha! Can you imagine? If it weren't for me, Buffy would indeed have an absent male role model. I am the most modeliest of all the male roles. In fact, I state daily that everyone should just follow in my footsteps and be exactly like me. The world would be a great deal safer, far more intelligent, and there'd be more opportunities for conversations worth having.

Suffice it to say, with this blow of being kept in the dark yet again, I was feeling a little worse for wear in that crypt. I told Xander and Willow to leave and sat there for a time. Though I had been feeling a part of the group more often recently, it became abundantly clear then how very out of the loop I am and have been. I'm no longer in the circle. What am I doing with my life? I hang about, waiting for Buffy's call, and then leap to action. But she doesn't always call, and I find myself sitting on my sofa or dusting or re-alphabetizing my book collection. Is this what my life is now? I used to be a Watcher. Perhaps not a well-respected Watcher, but the title gave me meaning. Before that, I used to be a powerful sorcerer. There was a time that people were terrified of crossing me. I was respected and even godly to some.

Now I'm . . . an unemployed librarian with a tendency to get knocked on the head. I said those exact words to Ethan Rayne. Yes, that old codger returned to Sunnydale. I heard him talking to himself in the crypt before I left completely. I wanted to give him a good fisticuffs and find a bit of release after that horrible day, but he told me that something bad was happening, and he needed to speak with me about it. So, we went to the pub. Ethan and I never really had the time to sit down and catch up. Usually because he was doing something horrid, and I absolutely detest the man, but I have to admit that speaking with my best mate from the past was . . . nice.

Ethan was with me during my entire time as Ripper. He was my right hand. He was as talented as myself when it came to magicks, and we often relied on one another to perform a spell. He understood my anger and shared my view of the world. There was a time where I would have sided with Ethan on anything. He was my brother. That changed after Randall . . . I wanted nothing more to do with the dark arts, but Ethan made a different choice. He fell deeper. His salvation was the God, Chaos. He committed himself to the God and started to hurt the innocent. This was something I wanted nothing to do with, and so we parted, albeit on bad terms.

Still, sometimes I wonder what life would have been had I decided to follow Ethan's path. We were powerful together. We likely could have started our own coven. Been masters of something . . . Then, as all evil things are, been destroyed by the forces of good. Had Randall never died . . . I'm not sure I would have been able to save myself from accepting the darkness completely as Ethan had. Ripper would reign still. Well, I'd likely feel more useful and powerful than I do now. I turned my back on my sorcery years ago. As a result, my magicks has diminished. Ethan has remained strong in his. I'm almost jealous of him for that. If he ever decided to turn his back on the evil forces and used his magicks for good, Buffy and the others would likely go to him before me. He could do a lot more.

But that's enough of that talk for now. Ethan and I were drinking. He told me that something is harming demons, and it isn't the Slayer. Naturally, I assumed he was talking about the Initiative. Apparently, the demons are scared of something called 314, but this holds no meaning to me. Ethan did make a point though. He said that this new outfit is blundering into places where it doesn't belong, which is throwing the worlds out of balance. Ethan was concerned because this sort of imbalance is far beyond chaos. It's the sort of thing that starts apocalyptic wars. When demons become frightened en masse, they are not the type to sit back quietly. They take the offensive quickly and annihilate the threat. I'm not sure what the Initiative is up to, but I told Buffy to keep her eyes open. We know nothing of the Initiative nor its mission statement. They seem to have goals similar to ours, but as I touched on before, government-run organizations always have another motive. I hope Buffy isn't blind to it simply because she's dating a member of it.

Once I could no longer feel my toes, I thought it was apt time I return home. I said my farewells to Ethan and rather drunkenly returned home. I thought I'd simply wake up the next morning with an excruciating hangover . . . I was thoroughly wrong. Instead, I woke up as a demon. A Fyral demon, to be more exact. In my alarm, I broke some pieces of my house—which I again, need to fix—and even my favorite shirt. I'm still mourning that loss. I looked quite fit in it.

Disoriented and terrified, I went to Xander's first, seeking his help. I woke him, but he didn't appear to understand me, as he kept yelling at me and throwing cooking instruments at me. The pan hurt a bit. So, I fled and roamed the city, trying to avoid humans as much as possible while also trying to find Ethan, for it was quite obvious that that scoundrel was the one behind my transformation. Night fell, and I was no closer to finding him. I was beginning to accept that I'd be a Fyral demon forever . . . until I bumped into Spike.

To my surprise, Spike could speak Fyral. It was also through Spike that I learned I had some sort of mucous thing. I could spray it out of my nose and paralyze my enemies within it. Disgusting. I was quite resolute never to use it. Again though, Ethan could have made me a demon with the ability to shoot lasers from my eyes, or to breathe fire, or to shoot lighting from my horns. Something! Instead, he gave me mucous. How like Ethan. After promising to pay Spike two hundred dollars for helping me, we got in my car and drove around town.

Spike managed to obtain the hotel that Ethan was staying in, and we headed there. On the way, Humvees started to tail us. It was clear that the Initiative was after me. In true action star style, I jumped out of the car and ran for the hotel. Spike crashed my car. I've yet to determine if it's totaled, or if there is some hope to it being fixed. Either way, the expenditure is going to cost more than what I had to pay Spike to aid me. Bloody ridiculous.

Anyway, I found Ethan and started to throw him around a bit. Buffy and Riley showed up, and Buffy, not knowing it was me, started to fight me. I should mention that throughout the night, I felt as though I were changing. That a great deal of me was being lost. I like to consider myself as a rather calm and collected sort of person. As a demon, I felt neither. This building feeling of rage and anger was growing throughout the night. I kept feeling violent outbursts. Sudden needs to break a few necks or shred someone to pieces. It was the only action that would relieve the rage inside of me.

So, when Buffy started attacking me, instinct took over. I fought back. Some part of me disappeared entirely, and I knew I was fighting for my life. I had to survive. I had to kill her to survive. So we fought and fought. I've been Buffy's training partner for many years, but I have never fought with her when she wasn't holding back at least a little. Until that night. Demons have a good reason to be terrified of coming up against the Slayer. Buffy was wild . . . and she packed a bloody good punch. Had I been human, she'd have broken me completely.

After a good fight in which I completely held my own, Buffy did end up getting the upper hand. She threw me on my back and said, "this is for Giles" before piercing me with a steel letter opener. It hurt. It hurt a great deal, but it did not kill me. Buffy seemed to realize her mistake immediately and started asking if I was okay. I was bandaged up, and then Ethan transformed me back. I was rather naked when I returned, and so I borrowed some of Ethan's ghastly wardrobe to wear. Does the man really think he's the British version of Hugh Hefner?

Either way, he's off to Nevada now. To a detention facility! Serves that bugger right. He was quite cross and tried to break free from the men who were manhandling him into a car. It was a pleasure to witness, since I had been unable to give him the wallop I had intended for him. Unless he manages to escape, I think this is farewell at last to Ethan Rayne. How strange then . . . that I feel a sadness in writing those words. Is it because I am sad to see what was once my friend disappear from my life forever? Or because the last testament to my power and youth is now no longer able to be called upon to remind me of it? Hm.

That was my day and night as a demon. Buffy would have likely killed me had she not recognized my eyes. Apparently, according to her, no one else in the world could look that annoyed with her. It was a joke. I understood what she really meant. She may not need me as much anymore, but we have always been able to communicate without words . . . I'm glad that hasn't changed. I also bought a new phone—since I destroyed my other one—and was quite adamant that I be called the next time big news happens. I think she got the picture. It is clear though, that our relationship is changing yet again. She's become a young woman who can stand on her own two feet. She doesn't need a male role model in her life anymore. She's strong. And I can't not be proud of that.

I suppose there was one redeeming feature of being a demon . . .

I scared the living shite out of Professor Walsh. That was brilliant.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	69. The I in Team

It would seem Ethan's information checked out. The Initiative is not all that it appears.

My home is currently abuzz with discussion and planning. Buffy has returned to us, confirming our suspicions. As of late, she had been spending most of her time with the Initiative and her boyfriend, Riley. In fact, she had more or less replaced her old gang with this new gang with shiny weapons and military wardrobe. I can understand the pull, of course. They likely would make stronger allies in a fight, with all their weapons and funding. We're just a rag tag team who tend to flounder about a bit and end up flailing in the right direction to eliminate our enemies.

The Initiative, on the other hand, are trained for battle. The appeal is there, I see it . . . but that doesn't stop the slight hurt of being replaced. It isn't just myself feeling it either. Willow and Xander have both expressed some chaffing over being left behind. Willow, in particular, as her close proximity to Buffy usually allowed her more opportunity to join her. Xander, like myself, has been less injured by this replacement, as we already had been from the beginning, more or less. His choice to work instead of go to college has kept him from joining Buffy and Willow on even simple outings like going to a party.

Speaking of Xander, his latest job is horrid, and I truly hope he finds another vocation to bide his time, because I honestly cannot stand the current one. He's selling energy bars named Boost. They're horrid. Because I have a bloody soft heart, I purchased a box from him, Maple Walnut, and whatever entered my mouth was most definitely not Maple Walnut. In fact, it was more akin to a chemical plant in the middle of a desert. It's not often that I can't eat food . . . I could not eat this. I told Xander and Anya to leave my house for so thoroughly offending my taste buds.

However, a new arrival delayed their departure . . . and my spitting out the food. Spike arrived at my home, covered in a tarp to keep the sunlight off of him. He was quite panicked and desperate for aid—as always—and I was resolute not to give him any. After all, I had spoken with him earlier, paying him the three hundred dollars I had promised him. I'd rather hoped he might show some humanity and not accept the money after all. Bloody right. He took it and insisted that his association with the Scooby gang was over.

Naturally, I had to call him out on this and make him beg just a little more. Oh, and I got my three hundred back. Well, whatever is left of it. Feeling a tad more satisfied, I took a look at what was giving Spike such a problem. The Initiative had found him and shot him with what Xander determined was a tracer. Though I have numerous talents, surgery is not among them. It took me some time to peel away Spike's bits of tissue and muscle to get to the tracer. This was made all the more difficult because his body kept trying to heal itself. The restorative processes of Vampires is quite extraordinary. If I were a scientist, I'd insist on taking a few samples and examining them. This quick healing—quicker than Buffy's even—could be used to aid the world.

Alas, I am not a scientist, and I highly doubt Spike would be a willing lab rat, at any rate. Knowing that I was short on time, I called Willow over to conduct a spell for us. It was a simple spell, so I entrusted it in her hands. The spell would ionize the air, which would in turn disrupt the tracer's signal. I hope I never have to be in the presence of this spell again. Not only did it ruin my hair, but I've been zapped so many times today whenever I touch something metal, that it's really beginning to upset my mood. I can't even make a new cup of tea, because my kettle has a metal handle. Besides that, my clothes won't stop clinging to me.

Once I managed to remove the tracer, Xander flushed it down the toilet, and we were rid of the Initiative . . . for the time being. Unfortunately, we are not so easily rid of Spike. I tried to tell him that leaving Sunnydale was his safest course of action. Whilst he remained here, the Initiative would always be after him . . . and we'd have one less vampire to worry about. Spike refused on the basis that he's going to make the Initiative remove the chip from him. Well, best of luck to him for that, but he shouldn't expect us to come to the rescue if he gets caught by them again.

It was at this moment that Buffy showed up. She must have came in through the back door, because she was suddenly there. It's not like Buffy to "Angel" us. She informed us that it isn't safe for anyone whilst the Initiative is around. She went on to explain that she had been sent—alone—into a sewer to check out what was likely nothing but a raccoon. She was given a gun, and then sent off. She found, instead, two aggressive monsters with axes. This wouldn't have been a cause of too much worry, save that the sewer closed on her—as if by remotely—and the gun malfunctioned. Buffy managed to kill the monsters, but it was clear that she had been set up by one Maggie Walsh. Harpy.

So, we find ourselves at war with the Initiative, a heavily funded and armed organization. Somehow this is a tad more distressing than demons with sharp fangs and medieval weaponry. Bring a sword to a gunfight, and we know who will win. The others are currently discussing how they're going to infiltrate the Initiative and bring this attempt on Buffy's life to light. Maggie Walsh is our current enemy number one. She is, also, a human. Our plans, thus, are more difficult to make and execute. The police can't be contacted, and Buffy can't eliminate Walsh.

I could though. Is it not the job of a Watcher to protect his Slayer? I may not be a Watcher anymore, but my duty to Buffy has never wavered on my end. More than that, is it not the job of a father to protect his young? No matter what the cost? My soul is already damned. I can do this for Buffy.

I just need an opportunity to get Maggie Walsh alone.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	70. Goodbye Iowa

At last, I am free of Xander's 10th century dungeon he calls a basement!

For whatever reason, Buffy and the others thought that it would be an excellent idea to go into hiding. Since the Initiative is after Buffy—and thus likely us as well—I thought the idea seemed appropriate as well. . . . Until I learned that the hideout was to be Xander's dank, dim, tiny, repugnant basement. A basement, I might add, that has been the primary location for all of Xander and Anya's . . . couplings . . . and since Xander has a difficult enough time showering, I highly doubt he is all that great at cleaning his living space.

I was adamant that we remain in my cozy, clean, home . . . but then Riley had to show up and ruin this genius and hygienic plan. I have no idea how Riley even knows where I live, but there he was, walking in as if he owned the place. I really ought to learn to lock my door. My home isn't a public building, though it certainly seems to be treated as such. Strangers don't even have the decency to knock anymore. Maybe it's that 'Welcome' mat outside. I ought to get rid of it, it's sending out mixed signals.

So, after this altercation with Riley—he did not believe that Maggie Walsh had deliberately tried to kill Buffy—it was decided that we pack up and head for Xander's. My mood was rather sour the entire time, I admit. It was made worse by my night of interrupted sleep. As per gentlemanly custom, the women took the only bed—and again, I wouldn't have slept on it unless I personally cleaned the sheets and mattress—and I was designated to sleep in some horrific, torture device known as an inflatable chair. I thought that it might act like any standard armchair. I was completely wrong. The chair was not soft, it was hard, and it refused to be moved or bent in a manner more fitting my body. So, I was crammed and curled in the way the chair dictated.

Suffice it to say, my back has been killing me since, and I think I have a rash on my arse where the latex kept rubbing into me. I think sleeping on the floor would have rendered a better night's sleep than that buggering shite. It also did not help that Anya's snoring was akin to sitting front row at a Wagnerian performance. How Xander manages to sleep with that blasting in his ear, I haven't the foggiest. Earplugs must be an essential part of his sleeping routine. In fact, how did Willow or Buffy—who were sleeping right next to her—fall asleep at all!? Willow likely used magic. Smart girl.

Clearly, I am too old for sleepovers. At least, sleepovers that involve inflatable chairs. Before sleep was fine enough. We played a few board games, and then had some pizza. Xander was showing off his Playstation—some sort of computer gaming device that is hooked up to the television—and playing something called Spyro. He was a little purple dragon with a fairy or something for a friend intent on rescuing other dragons. I thought it was a bit childish, myself. If a dragon is running about burning people and piercing them with his horns, there ought to be a great deal of carnage and gore. Otherwise it's just silly and woefully inauthentic.

Anyway, the next morning, exhausted as I was—OH! That reminds me! Not only was my "bed" horrid, but Xander's damn disco ball kept blinding me once the sun was out and shining on it. Who has a disco ball in their basement!? I was a child of the seventies, and even I don't have a disco ball in my basement—or anywhere else, I might add. The girls were watching some incredibly inane cartoon as well. A bunch of loud noises, I couldn't make out what it was. Xander joined us and the news was turned on instead. We learned that a boy had been killed, reportedly skewered, and Buffy determined that it must be a Polgara demon. Apparently, this demon is notorious for its skewers.

So, she ran off to investigate, and I was left in the dank hole to research all I could on the Polgara demon. Anya and Xander assisted me at first. Willow went off to attempt to do a spell that might show her where all the demons in Sunnydale were located, one that would be able to differentiate between breeds. That proved fruitless in the end. Indeed, the more research we did on the Polgara demon, the more it became clear that whatever had killed the boy didn't seem to quite fit the modus operandi. For one, the boy was mutilated, not just skewered. His body was opened up, his organs displayed and even moved in places. More than that, none of the organs were missing, or any body part really. A Polgara demon needs to eat every two hours, and I highly doubt he'd have left his meal behind. Add in the fact that they have a low IQ, and we find ourselves with a bit of mystery. If whatever had killed the boy had, in fact, been a Polgara demon, we would have been able to find him by now.

Whilst we were researching, Buffy returned with Riley who looked . . . well . . . quite ill. He was pale and feverish to the point of sweating. His behavior had been erratic and aggressive. Buffy told us that Professor Walsh had been killed by this "Polgara demon" as well. She took Xander and went off to do some infiltration. Riley woke up and after assaulting Willow, took off after Buffy. Poor Willow was pushed right to the ground. It's a wonder she didn't sprain or fracture her wrist. Consider that a point off liking Buffy's new boyfriend. Extremely rude and unnecessary behavior.

With the knowledge that Professor Walsh had been killed, we deemed it safe to come out of hiding. Well, I did. Simply because I couldn't stand being down there any longer. It's so cold! I've returned home since then and showered multiple times to remove any sort of air-born fungus that might have attached itself to me whilst I was there. I'm happily scrubbed and thoroughly clean and am looking forward to an excellent night of sleep in my own bed. Naturally, our mission has become harder, however. Buffy stopped by to inform me that she had met the thing that murdered Professor Walsh and the boy.

Thing is actually an appropriate term. He calls himself Adam, but he is, in fact, a tri-hybrid of man, demon and machine. I have no idea why Professor Walsh thought that was a good thing to create. But she did it. She brought a 21st Century Frankenstein to life. Surprise, surprise, the Frankenstein killed its creator. Honestly, does no one learn from reading the classics? This Adam is the great secret in 314. And he has proven to be quite the secret. Buffy said she could hardly touch him. He's an excellent fighter. Better even than the Slayer. This raises some alarm. Take the unpredictability of a man, the strength of a demon and the intelligence of a machine, and one has the perfect soldier. Unstoppable. Buffy is but a girl imbued with a bit of extra strength and agility. But she tires. I do not think that Adam will tire. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure how to prepare for a battle against something—someone—like Adam.

Though I think I shall start with a good night's rest.

Goodnight, all.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	71. This Year's Girl

It seems the shite has hit the fan.

That is an appalling metaphor, and I am never going to use it again. It's apt though. Here we were, storming up plans to go on the offensive with Adam, when we learn that our dear friend Faith has awoken from her coma. Quite the timing. I should have expected her to wake, really. If anyone were to ever wake from a coma, it would be a Slayer. Their healing properties are practically inhuman. I wish I had put into place some security measures to help with the situation . . . but hindsight is ever 20/20.

I'm concerned for Buffy. She's already been running herself ragged in her search for Adam. Three—now four—days have passed since Adam presented himself. She's perhaps slept one of those nights, and only allowed herself cat naps the other few days. She is in no shape to meet Faith head on. A great deal of her unfocused energy came from Riley's imprisonment in the military hospital he was taken to after the fight with Adam. Buffy worried that they might be brainwashing him or torturing him. I did not share this concern, as it seems to me that the Initiative is rather keen on keeping its soldiers at their best.

Riley's return has given Buffy a necessary boost, but there is something else working against her. It isn't just that she has to juggle both Adam and Faith either. It's the simple fact that we have no idea what to do with Faith. The local law enforcement have no hope of containing her, or even capturing her without lethal force. The Initiative, though it contains excellent containment facilities and would likely be able to keep her locked away, has proven to have questionable and dark intentions and motivations. We can't know if they'll experiment on her or coerce her into working against us or the world. There's simply too many variables. It seemed that the only possible outcome would be for Buffy to . . . eliminate her.

At least until now. Currently, I have three gentlemen sitting in my sitting room and drinking my tea. They are from the Watcher Council. I know them well. They are the men one hopes never to see during one's career . . . or life, really. This Special Tasks Force is here to return Faith to the Council for rehabilitation . . . or execution, if she proves stubborn. The simple fact is that we cannot allow for a rogue Slayer to exist. Not if she is displaying signs of unchecked violence and hostile intentions to the innocent. A rogue Slayer like Faith could cause irreparable damage to a city before she is taken out.

Buffy does not, as of yet, know of the presence of this Special Tasks Force. They've only just arrived and are using my home as a temporary base. Fortune smiles on me. They intend to begin their hunt tomorrow. I hope Buffy stops by soon, whether it be tonight or tomorrow morning. I need to inform her that she ought to stay out of their way. They're efficient. More importantly, I don't need her giving them cause to just lump her in with Faith. Buffy has already cut off ties with the Council . . . she's on their radar now.

I remain hopeful that they can arrest Faith quickly before she does any harm to anyone. Xander and I went out earlier to patrol—for both Adam and Faith, really—when we ran into Spike. Xander asked Spike if he had seen Faith giving a description fitting to her. Spike informed us that he would now look for her and tell her exactly where she could find us. I loathe Spike. I really, really do. I don't think he was fooling either.

We're faced with a two-front war. One of those fronts must be removed, and quickly, or else we'll find ourselves out-flanked and overwhelmed. Heaven forbid if Faith joins up with Adam. We won't stand a chance.

Bloody blighters want more of my tea.

They're just as bad as Spike.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	72. Who Are You?

This has certainly been the case of topsy-turvy.

Faith was Buffy. Buffy was Faith.

It would appear that during Faith's initial escape from the hospital, she procured some device that allowed a spell to be formed. A Draconian Katra spell, as Willow put it, that switched Buffy's consciousness into Faith's body and vice versa. Where Faith obtained such a spell is yet unclear. It's rare and difficult to create. The opportunity to use the spell arrived when Faith broke into Buffy's home and took Joyce as her hostage. Buffy arrived, and one can imagine, the two came to blows.

I, completely unaware of the time of the switch, called Joyce later to inform Buffy that she was needed at my abode to meet with myself and the others. Buffy, but in reality, Faith joined us and informed us that "Faith" had attacked her and her mother, but that she had gained the upper hand, and "Faith" was now in the custody of the police. It was at this point that I revealed the Special Operations Force the Council had sent to retake "Faith" and bring her back to the Council for her sentencing—and hopefully—rehabilitation. Since the Special Operations Force is trained in the art of smuggling, interrogation and . . . wet works . . . I was assured that they had likely obtained "Faith" already from the police.

I suppose the signs were there had we the insight to notice. "Buffy" was particularly gleeful that "Faith" had been captured and was being sent to England for a very long time. More than that, she seemed nonchalant about the threat of Adam, of whom I had to even remind her. Though "Buffy" claimed that she was going to patrol, Willow informed me later that she spotted "Buffy" at the Bronze where she introduced Tara. More on Tara in a little bit. It was at this meeting, however, that Tara determined that "Buffy's" energy was, in her words, fragmented. This led Willow and Tara to determine the cause and eventually the solution. It is because of their effort that we managed to restore Buffy to her true body.

Buffy, meanwhile, stated that after the Watchers destroyed the police car, they took her to a warehouse. She said that they were waiting on the Council to procure passage for them, but when that became unavailable, they were ordered to kill her. Good old Council. Always the champion of Humanity. Buffy managed to escape and found her way to my home.

And this is when I became aware of Buffy's plight. As one can imagine, I was rather panicked when Faith burst right through my door in broad daylight. I was in the middle of cleaning up breakfast, and she ran in, demanding that she was Buffy, and not in fact, Faith. Upon first seeing her, I thought Faith was going to prostrate and beg for forgiveness or aid. After all, the Special Operations Force is not to be trifled with. They're a very serious unit of men who take their jobs even more seriously. I was on the cusp of joining such a force, given my talent for interrogation, but I didn't have the stomach required for murder. Or, more accurately, the right mind for it. I preferred to ask questions. The Council doesn't like their muscle to ask questions.

Anyway, I found myself in quite a predicament. I thought Faith was going to kill me. She had, after all, gone after Buffy's mother just the other day. I insisted that if she was who she claimed to be, that she'd allow me to tie her up and question her until it was proven without a doubt that Buffy was, indeed, inside of Faith's body. Naturally, Buffy had quite the retort, claiming that since it was likely that Faith could have taken her body to some far-off country by now, it was not the time for, and I quote, "bondage fun." I shall remark no further on bondage or whatever enjoyment one might procure from it.

Buffy then began to describe aspects of my life that Faith, who had been in a coma, would not have been able to know. What more or less convinced me—or perhaps shocked me into believing—was her account of the time when she had the ability to read minds and discovered that her mother had been thinking I was a . . . well . . . stevedore . . . during sex. That prompted immediate refusal of any further requirement of proof.

It was at this time that Willow, thankfully, and Tara also burst into my home. They took it in stride that "Faith" was there and seemed to know immediately what had happened. Now, onto the individual that is Tara. This is my first time meeting her. I know little about her save that she is a powerful witch—according to Willow—and that she is Willow's friend. In demeanor, she appears quiet and shy, but her choice in aiding us in this matter suggests that she is of the good side. She must also contain some form of bravery and steadfastness, as she joined us even right into battle—though we didn't really battle. I am unsure if Willow intends for Tara to join our little gang, but since Tara seems to know Buffy's secret, there is little else barring her from doing so. Since Xander has allowed for an ex-demon to join us—even if just by proxy—then I suppose Willow can also add her . . . friend.

The spell with which Tara and Willow created, a Katra, would allow for Buffy to change back into her body. All Buffy needed to do was locate Faith and enact the spell. Fate, it seemed, would play right into our hands. There was an incident in a church. Three vampires, for whatever insane reason, were holding hostages in a local church. One poor soul had already died. The police had the church surrounded, but it was clear that the Slayer was needed. The four of us rushed to the scene. Unfortunately, right into a police officer who insisted that we remained with the rest of the populace whilst the law enforcement handled the situation.

Thinking quickly, I use my supreme acting skills to distract the officer, which allowed Buffy to sneak into the church. Yes, I gestured wildly, raised my voice, even fainted having a fainting spell. I do feel bad for the police officer. He was just performing his duty, and he had a theatrical Englishman on his hands, which means that I was using my own version of Hamlet Act Five, Scene Two, in my fainting spell. Suffice it to say, the officer was thoroughly distracted, and Buffy infiltrated the church. When she emerged, it was in the rightful body.

Apparently, Faith had also heard of the trio of vampires within and went to Slay them. The two finished off the vampires, and then went for each other. During the scuffle, Buffy enacted the spell, and they returned to their proper bodies. Faith has, unfortunately, disappeared since then. One assumes she has skipped town. If she was smart, which in regards to survival she is, she'd travel as far as she can from here. Not just because of us, no . . . but she has foiled the Council twice now. They don't take kindly to being made fools.

As for Buffy, the real Buffy, she has happy to be back in her rightful body. I'm quite happy for it, myself. It was odd seeing Faith's body walking and talking like Buffy. It was a sort of perversion I hope never to see again. With Faith out of the picture—at least we hope—our attention can now return to Adam, and the increasing threat he poses to us.

 **For the record, the definition of stevedore is literally, 'one who stuffs.' And to follow with Hamlet Act Five, Scene Two, "the rest is silence."**

-Rupert Giles

2000


	73. Superstar

Good lord! Johnathon has beaten me at chess again!

I don't know how he does it. He knows all of the classic moves, and then has even invented twenty more himself! I'll outwit him one of these days. At least he's kind enough to keep my spirits up about the losses though. Of course he is . . . He's Johnathon!

I had the complete delight of hosting his presence in my home earlier tonight. Buffy and the others came by with a rather nasty report of a nest vampires in a crypt. Naturally, Johnathon joined in and came up with a solid plan to remove them. I'm happy to report that the plan was successful and Johnathon and the others have vanquished the vampires yet again. I think we can all assume that such would be the case once Johnathon lent a hand.

I hope he stops by later for some scones. I made blueberry ones, which are his favorite. Here's to hoping!

* * *

Buffy had the oddest accusation tonight. She seemed to think that this . . . reality . . . we're living in was designed by Johnathon, that he was "too perfect." I'm not sure I've ever heard anything quite so preposterous. Xander was right in saying that Johnathon isn't too perfect, he's merely . . . the perfect amount. Really, even Johnathon himself doesn't think he's perfect, and that makes him even more so in my books.

In an effort to prove her theory, Buffy described a mark that had been noticed on a monster that's been haunting Sunnydale as of late. It attacked Tara earlier this evening. I produced my swimsuit calendar of Johnathon—which he signed and gave to me for Christmas last year, I might add—and we perused the pictures until we discovered the same mark branded on his flesh. Now, I must admit, that seems a little peculiar, but Johnathon was just here to explain it. He said that the monster has an unusual personal connection to him. That whenever he fights it, he starts to become quite confused, and it takes a great deal of energy to remain focused. The tattoo of the mark was a reminder to himself not to underestimate it.

Quite plausible. Buffy has left with Johnathon to kill the monster, but once she returns, I am quite sure she'll find that she is just having one of those Buffy moments. In fact, Xander, Willow, Anya, Riley and I have gathered up some books to find this mark and determine its meaning, so that we may show her when she gets back. That is, of course, if Xander doesn't accidentally set my home on fire by bumbling through Latin and setting books on fire. Why couldn't he be more like Johnathon?

We haven't found anything yet, and I highly doubt we'll—

. . . Well, it appears Buffy was onto something. The mark that appears both on the skin of the monster and Johnathon is part of an Augmentation spell. Willow found it in her book, and it proves rather worrisome. The caster becomes a paragon, the best of everything, essentially. However, in order to balance all of this good, a creature of the worst of everything must also be created and—very likely—has been created. It is the monster that Buffy and Johnathon are set to battle as we speak. The extremely worrisome part—besides Buffy being right—is that if Johnathon—and it hurts me to even think of his betrayal—wants to remain in this reality, he might leave Buffy at the mercy of the monster.

After all, Buffy has never faced something so hideous and powerful alone before. Johnathon has always been at her side. Then there is question of if this reality should change at all. We're all quite happy and relatively safe. Johnathon always saves the day. Do we really need to return to the proper reality? . . . I rather like it here. Johnathon is fantastic.

I suppose we shall have to wait and see.

* * *

This is bloody embarrassing.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	74. Where the Wild Things Are

It seems the metaphorical cat is out of the bag.

Recently, I've found myself a rather enjoyable pastime of singing at the local café, Expresso Pump. They had "amateur hour" and allowed their guests to take the mic and sing a little song. Feeling rather bold, I displayed my more secretive of talents and sang for the customers. The applause and support and enthusiasm for another performance rather seduced me into showing up for every special adult hour and performing for those gathered. It wasn't just me there, I feel I should add. Other singers performed as well as a few poets. It was a lovely little evening every week where I could spend some much needed time with adults and carry on earnest conversations.

Well, all of that has been put to a stop now. My secret has been found out. I'm not entirely who was more horrified—the gang or myself. Singing and playing the guitar are deeply held secrets of mine. I was part of a band back in the Ripper days, but before we had a chance to "make it big," I returned to my studies at the Watcher Academy. Those were good chaps that I played with, but my sound then was far heavier than what I play now.

My mistake was mentioning where I was going to be that evening. Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya had some crisis and searched for me there . . . and found me out. Earring and all. In fact, I am still receiving flak for my earring. They can bloody stuff it, I like my earring. Anyway, the crisis that brought them to me involved a party they were all attending at Riley's fraternity house. Apparitions, an earthquake and furniture being thrown all over the place—as well as a sudden vegetation takeover—were the things they reported. They needed my aid.

After learning that Buffy and Riley were still in the house, engaging in . . . well . . . activities, I at first thought it might be a Succubus. After all, this demon fed off of sexual energy and induced it. It fit the pattern, but not quite the apparitions. My next thought was perhaps a Satyr's prank. Satyr's delight in sexual activity as well. There's a reason they're so closely associated with Bacchus, where often—though not always—orgies would occur. I've yet to meet a Satyr in my experience, but some of my former colleagues have met them during their travels in Ireland and Italy. They're usually a peaceful folk, prone to mischievousness, but don't mean to harm. Since the apparitions that appeared seemed to influence and injure those in the house, that theory was discarded as well.

Willow found an old article describing the fraternity home as a former Home for Children run by Genevieve Holt in the 1960s. Despite the late hour, we called upon her and found her awake. At first, I thought we would discover that she had experienced the same apparitions that the gang had, and she might point us to an incident either before her time, or an incident occurring during her care. What we discovered instead was a monster. The worst kind of monster, because she wasn't a demon or a vampire, she was a cruel, cruel human.

Genevieve Holt, consumed by her zealous religious beliefs, punished the children in atrocious manners. Torture, I think, would be a better word for it. She cut the girls' hair, thinking them too vain, and would hold Baptisms for those she deemed especially Sinful. Essentially, she'd hold them under water in a bathtub to the point of nearly drowning them. Who knows what other unspeakable horrors she visited upon them? All of this was done to children, mind, who are now fully grown adults. Who knows how well they're functioning in society? I had my fair share of psychiatric stresses, and that turned out rather badly. These children were treated far worse than myself.

It's people like Genevieve Holt that make me question at times our cause. Is the human race worth saving from the threat that constantly overhangs them? Of course, then I remember that people like Holt are a minority. The majority of mankind are filled with good people who just wish to get by without harming anyone. Thus, such encounters with people like Holt are jarring. She received a medal and a pat on the back for child abuse. Disgusting.

Armed with this knowledge of the trauma that had occurred at the home, I devised our culprit. It was a cluster of poltergeists drawn to the area of repressed sexual energy. This energy was then released by the . . . err . . . enthusiastic activities of which Buffy and Riley were participants. They were being fed off of, and if they were not stopped, the poltergeists would drain them of all energy, essentially killing them. As Xander and Anya intended to break into the home and free Buffy, Willow, Tara and myself held a sort of Séance to call upon the traumatized spirits who had left their mark in that home. Having never been part of this sort of Séance before, I really had no idea what to expect.

In fact, I was rather sure we were lacking in a Ouija board, but Tara found a way to successfully communicate with them. Indeed, the spirits of the children surrounded us. It was rather chilling being watched and examined by so many eyes. Each one looked absolutely miserable, too. We pressed them to move on and find healing elsewhere. They weren't really having it and threw our table to the side and vanished. That was quite frightening, I have to admit. Fighting demons is one thing. It's a physical force that I can subvert with my own strength and knowledge of fighting. Battling against the spirit realm? It consists more of one ducking and cowering in the hopes of not being hit by flying objects by an invisible force.

Xander and Anya had more luck in bursting into the room that Buffy and Riley were in, disrupting the funneling of energy. The poltergeists have left—to our best knowledge—and the fraternity remains just as it is now. To ensure that it has been cleansed, I'll be joining Willow and Tara over there tomorrow morning to burn some sage and sprinkle holy water around the place.

I suggested washing Riley's bedsheets in holy water as well.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	75. New Moon Rising

A positive of shutting down the entire electrical grid of Sunnydale: Rescuing our old friend Oz. A negative of shutting down the entire electrical grid of Sunnydale: My loo has been reverted to a Roman "latrina."

It all began with a meeting I held to touch base with Buffy on how her patrols were going. It has been some time since we last encountered Adam, and the fact that he is still out there maintaining a low profile is extremely worrying. Adam is an intelligent adversary, and every second he remains free, is a second for him to plan and countermeasure any attack we might plan to use against him. The meeting informed me of more or less the same—that there has continued to be no sight of Adam. Furthermore, Buffy informed those in attendance—myself, Xander, a useless Anya, Riley, Willow and her friend Tara—that she hadn't Slayed a demon or a vampire in quite a period of time.

Riley, on the other hand, informed us that the Initiative was capturing demons left and right. More than that, it seemed as though they were making it easy for themselves to be caught. Something is occurring behind the scenes, and I fear that it will soon be coming to a head. I just haven't the foggiest as to what is going to happen. The demons are being kept in secure facilities. Perhaps Adam has convinced them to turn themselves in? But for what purpose? Does he seek to be the only demon/machine/human left in existence? Or does he perhaps benefit from the information the scientists at the Initiative uncover from the demons? Either way, I can't piece together what his ultimate goal might be, though I'm sure it's detrimental to the health of humankind.

During this meeting, Oz appeared. He has returned from his travels to better understand his condition. Considering the heartbreak he caused—and we had to help Willow through—one can understand that everyone felt a bit thrown at his sudden appearance. Indeed, I was equal parts wanting to give him a good sock in the face for injuring Willow as he did, and embracing him as a long-lost friend. Oz, after all, was with us for a great deal of our adventures in Sunnydale High School.

His purpose was to speak to Willow, which is hardly surprising. I was able to speak with him before he went to call upon Willow. He informed me of his travels, that he had been sent to Tibet by a Warlock and spent some time meditating and learning to control oneself. He even explained the herbal mixture he takes to control the wolf—wolfsbane, some stalks of sage and cloves. I've made note of this and intend to research each ingredient separately. Though Oz later turned into a wolf anyway, I am curious to know if those herbs helped him at all, or his transformation—and all transformations—are caused simply by emotion.

For that is eventually what became his downfall. Oz discovered that Willow was seeing Tara romantically. Yes. This is news to myself as well. I thought they were just good friends. Though I support all of my Scoobies in their endeavors and identities, I do hope that Willow hasn't fallen into this relationship as a result of the fallout with Oz. That she was so hurt and injured by it, that she has chosen to close herself off from the male population entirely. One wonders if she even believes that that part of her, that Oz loved, can only truly be loved by Oz, and so to be okay with herself, she has sought connection with someone who does not threaten that. Or, quite simply, perhaps she's tired of the drama involved with men. After all, Oz wasn't her first traumatic event. Xander did his share to shake her confidence in men.

All the same, I wish Willow and Tara the best. Love isn't easy to come by. I know this quite well. If they've found it in one another, then I am glad they've chosen to seize it and cherish it. I also look forward to getting to know Tara and seeing if she's fit for our Willow, just as I would any prospective romantic partner for one of my girls.

Oz, as one can imagine, did not take the news lightly. He transformed—in daylight—and attacked Tara. Fortunately, the Initiative tranquilized him before he could harm Tara. Unfortunately, Oz was now a prisoner of the Initiative, notorious for running experiments on its occupants. A rescue mission was in order. We discussed the how-to's, and to our surprise, Spike came calling to offer his aid, as he had broken out of the facility.

Whilst Buffy, Xander, Spike and Willow went to find and rescue Oz, Anya and I were put in charge of disrupting the electrical grid. This required the computer, my old nemesis. Apparently, it takes one ancient vengeance demon and a retired librarian to even figure out how to access the hacking system. I'm still not entirely sure we put everything back where it's supposed to be. However! We were successful; clearly, since I'm sitting here writing by candlelight and feeling quite like Voltaire or Byron.

Everyone has split off since then. Xander stopped by to pick up Anya and told us that Oz had been rescued. Even more so, that Riley had attempted to free him himself, but was now facing a court martial. The boy is now in hiding. As for Oz . . . well . . . I'm sad to say he is leaving once more, and this time likely for good. It would be too painful for both Willow and himself to remain. Too dangerous what with the Initiative searching for him as well. It's a painful parting, even for those in the rafters like myself.

Oz is a rare soul, and I shall miss him.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	76. The Yoko Factor

It would seem the era of the Scooby Gang has finally ended.

It's difficult for me to piece together all that occurred last night. I was rather sloshed through the later evening hours. Immature? Perhaps. But since I'm terribly hungover at the moment, I think I'll be thoroughly candid in my entry. It isn't as though anyone is going to read it. As I said, the gang has disbanded. Buffy has chosen a solitary path with her shiny and new and fit Initiative-bred boyfriend, Riley. She's cast off the old. Not just myself either. Willow and Xander have also been left behind.

I knew, like a sheet of ice beginning to thaw, that tiny cracks were beginning to emerge in the gang's once impenetrable wall of loyalty, friendship and support. Xander was right in saying that the problems arose when Buffy and Willow went off to college. They became engrossed in their new lives. Xander and I were left to wait for that phone call that may or may not sound to assist them. Xander received more calls than myself though, so he can bloody stuff it about feeling left out. If anyone is the bloody outsider here, it's me.

As Spike made mention, even when I was Buffy's Watcher, she rarely listened to my tacit advise. She's always gone off and done what she believed was the best solution. Hell, she never even needed me for training. Not really. I wound up on my arse more times than I was able to land a blow. I was foolish in thinking that if I remained, we might be able to pretend that I still had some bearing or importance in her life. I rather thought, if anything, she might come to me for emotional support. We were once so terribly fond of one another. I thought, anyway.

Yet, now I see everything from a different perspective. Perhaps it's the hangover, I'm not sure, but it is abundantly clear to me how much time I have wasted this year. I'm not a young man anymore. Every year is precious. I've spent this one sitting at home, occasionally singing my woes, and then ending most nights in a bottle. That is what my life has led to. I was a curator of the British museum once. I was a Watcher. I had meaning. Now, I'm just a drunken slob who's desperate for the approval and attention from a band of teenagers.

Isn't that depressing? Dear lord. Spike was right. Buffy, and the others, treat me exactly as I am. A retired librarian. They probably wonder why I haven't just left. Perhaps they even expected me to after the high school was blown up. The truth of the matter is, I don't know where I'm supposed to go next. My entire life has been preparation to be a Watcher. My skill set is very precise. How am I supposed to adapt to the normal word? I suppose I can return to the British museum, maybe even try for a position in Cairo. It will be full of under-cover Watchers, of course, and I'll have to brush off the shame they'll likely look to illicit in me, but I might find a sense of purpose again.

Isn't that the desire for all human life? To feel as though we have purpose and meaning? Mine was taken abruptly from me. Perhaps it's not just my relationship with Buffy and the others that I mourn for, but my loss of purpose as well. Even in the state that I'm in, I can't resent the group for dropping me off like a piece of old and outdated furniture. They're young. So very young. They're in a state of transition in their lives. I've been there and done exactly as they have done. I'm not sure why I expected it would be any different.

As I said, a giant fissure erupted last night. It shattered everything. From what I can remember, Willow was angry at Buffy and Xander for thinking that her Wicca practice was just a phase, and that they didn't like Tara or them being together. Romantically. As in . . . the two of them are having—NO. Not even hungover enough to describe _that._ Xander was angry at Buffy and Willow for basically leaving him behind and looking down at him because they were attending college, and he was not. Buffy didn't understand how anyone could be of help to her, essentially.

There might have been more, but as I had already fell flat on my arse in an attempt to sit down, I thought it best I go to bed. So, I stripped and stumbled upstairs to my bed. I'm pretty certain I didn't strip . . . entirely . . . in front of them all. Yes, I'm fairly certain it was just my shirt. I hope so, anyway. Either way, I more or less passed out as soon as I got into bed. I'm not sure how long they stayed, what else was said, and when they left.

However, when I woke late this morning—wishing I rather hadn't—everyone was gone. Willow's laptop is still here, but the house is empty. I think today shall be a lounge about in my robe and pajamas day, and attempt to cure my headache and nausea with some well-brewed tea. After writing this entry, I'll have to think about my future. There isn't a place or purpose for me here anymore. I think the obvious plan is to return to England. I have some homes there that I should check in on. Then I'll check my finances and make an informed decision then. I can't just sit on my arse and do nothing though. While the life of leisure is relaxing, I've been active for too much of my life. Relaxation has now become stifling.

I'm no longer a Watcher; it's time I've accepted that.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	77. Primeval

I may have been premature in announcing my death sentence of the Scooby gang.

I believe I can say we have literally never been closer. In fact, I hope we're never that close again. A proper explanation will follow, but first, allow me to recount the events leading up to this . . . communion. Shortly after finishing my previous entry, Willow and Tara showed up at my door. Though I had thought they might, I'd rather hoped it would be later in the day when I'd actually put on more clothes than just a robe. They didn't linger, all the same, so I wasn't called upon to play host. In fact, things were quite awkward, even though Willow, Tara and myself hadn't argued. Still, the wounds left from the fight before had us all still sore and achy—some more than others, I might add.

I was prepared to pack up and start looking at booking a ticket back to England when Buffy called me. She wanted everyone to meet her on Campus. Grudgingly, I went, and as did everyone else. There, Buffy called attention to the fact that we'd all been worked up by the same individual—Spike. True, that the fight that occurred was bound to happen in some form or another, it was Spike who exacerbated the problem. The snide little pillock knew exactly what to say to make me question myself. He shook my faith, and my dislike for him has only increased. Again, I wonder, why haven't we Staked him yet?

Spike's motives in making us turn against one another was in serving Adam. We realized that Adam had been organizing the capture of demons into the Initiative, so that it was ripe for a trap. As Buffy called it, the Initiative was, in fact, a Trojan horse. Willow ascertained after decrypting the disks that Adam's plan was to build a new race of demon droids. A thrice-hybrid like himself. After the inevitable slaughter of man and demon in the Initiative, he'd have his own supply depot to build from. Clever maneuvering on his part, I must say. I'm not sure we've ever faced a Big Bad quite as genius as him.

The plan then was to figure out a way to destroy Adam. We returned to my home where I looked through the large supply of medieval weapons I've stocked up over the years. As one can imagine, none of these would serve our purpose of destroying Adam. Buffy reminded us that Adam's power source was an Uranium core buried deep in his chest. Obviously, gaining access to it would be thoroughly difficult. Adam is at least twice as strong as Buffy. We then turned our thoughts to magic. Willow mentioned a few spells that might aid us, and I had a thought for a few of my own . . . but the language was in Sumerian. I know Sumerian, but Willow does not, and she has the power of magicks that we would need to rely on.

It was then that an incredible idea came from the most unlikely of sources—Xander. He jokingly suggested that if we could somehow combine my skill with languages, Willow's magicks, and Buffy's strength, we might have a chance against Adam. It just so happens that I had been studying an old ritual that was supposed to do just that. It's called the Enjoining Spell, and though extremely powerful, it also was extremely dangerous. The few cases I have read of it before resulted in madness. The actual joining is the easy party. It's returning to the individual bodies where things become a bit tricky. Sometimes, two consciousness would enter a body, and they'd tear the mind apart trying to take ownership of it. Other times, the wrong consciousness entered the wrong body, and so you'd have a male in a woman's body or a woman in a male's body. Sometimes, the consciousness just died in the process, the energy it required being too much for it to withstand.

Despite these risks, it seemed the only way that would guarantee Buffy enough strength to eliminate Adam. So, we packed up the necessary ingredients for the ritual and broke into the Initiative. By that, I mean we scaled down the elevator in true James Bond fashion. There was some reconciliation that was made during this descent. Buffy realized that she had been so caught up in her new love life and all that went with it, that she had forgotten her friends along the way. There was hugging. It was nice.

Cocked and ready to go, we opened the doors to the Initiative . . . only to be immediately discovered by the Initiative's soldiers. I was not concerned, however, as James Bond also often is caught and taken to the main villain of the film. We were taken to the secondary villain, the Colonel in charge of the Initiative. As one might imagine, he was quite cross with us breaking into the Initiative again and didn't seem to understand our purpose there. In fact, he was hell-bent on not believing our warnings at all.

Naturally, the attack began shortly after. The demons were released from their cells by an outside source—Adam—and started attacking the staff and soldiers of the Initiative. Buffy quickly took care of our guards, and we hurried through the chaos of battle. It was quite the gauntlet to run through, I must say. Explosions and gunfire everywhere, teeth, claws and pointy appendages everywhere else. There were numerous bodies already on the floor, and the rest were all struggling violently to remain alive.

We decided to perform the spell in the notorious room 314. Adam was just beyond it in a secret lab room. Buffy ran off to confront him, and Xander, Willow and I set up the ritual. A magic gourd was placed with us, as well as candles. Willow led us through the ritual, and this is where we all got to know each other very, very well. The ritual was performed correctly, and the three of our consciousness' were placed in the vessel—Buffy. It's difficult to describe exactly what it was like, sharing consciousness with three other people. It was chaotic . . . and intimate. We were all connected, if not physically, then spiritually. I'll leave it to the philosophers to debate on which is more intimate.

Though we were focused on the task at hand, I was still able to sense the others' pain and fear. Not all of it was about Adam either. With the recent fight, there were still some lingering wounds, and they were revealed to me . . . just as I am sure mine were revealed to them. It extended further than that even. I saw their hopes or dreams. Buffy just wanted her friends back. I received a longing from her for the simplicity of the high school days. In fact, this was a longing I felt from everyone. Xander, perhaps, was the one who wished for it the most. But mostly, I received from him a firm desperate desire to be seen and valued. As for Willow, she longed to be accepted and unquestioned. I'm not sure what they might have read from me, and I don't think I wish to know.

To describe the battle, I was able to see it through Buffy's eyes. Adam stood before her. His hand had transformed into some sort of machine gun. Xander, being the heart, grounded us. I knew that Adam likely intended to use that gun, so I thought of an old Sumerian spell and gave Buffy the knowledge she needed to speak it. Willow transferred her magicks for Buffy to utilize, and she cast a shield on herself just as Adam started firing on her. With our combined strength, Buffy was able to fight Adam and actually leave a mark. Well, quite a mark, considering she shoved her hand into chest cavity and pulled out the Uranium core.

Once more, I gave her the words she needed to destroy the core . . . and that was the end of Adam. With Xander's steadfastness and guidance, we returned to our correct bodies, and I'm happy to say, no one has gone insane from the experience. With Adam taken care of, we were able to rescue the remaining soldiers, destroy most of the demons, and then escaped the Initiative. Job well done, I'd say. I'm unsure what will become of the Initiative now, but the main threat they presented has been vanquished. One more for the Slayer.

Buffy suggested that we all celebrate the victory together by having a movie night. Which is why I find myself writing this entry at the Summers' residence whilst movie snacks are being prepared. Joyce was kind enough to play host for the sudden ambush. In fact, I think she's quite happy to have Buffy back to herself for a time. The atmosphere appears to be calm . . . comfortable, even. The experience we all shared seems to have shifted things back to the way they were supposed to be. I can't speak if it will remain. I can't even speak for myself and my decision to either remain or leave. Tonight, however, things are exactly as they used to be.

We're a family.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	78. Restless

I'm not even sure how to describe what occurred.

Perhaps one of the most dizzying and odd dreams of my life was performed inside of my head. As with most dreams, a large deal of it has since dissipated into nothingness. From what I do recall, however, Olivia was in it with an empty stroller. Buffy was most eager in her training. Spike was some sort of freak-celebrity, and there was a man with cheese. Terrible, cheap cheese, I might add. Oh, and the First Slayer cut my head open. Indeed, she almost killed me, Willow and Xander in our dreams.

It seems that in our joining with Buffy, we offended the source of her power, the first Slayer. In regards to understanding the Slayer and her power, this was absolutely fascinating. How Slayers are chosen, and what occurs in the transition of power, we have not even the foggiest clue. Yet, through this experience, I have ascertained that the First Slayer—or her spirit, more accurately—continues to exist in each present Slayer. It is she from whom all the power of the Slayer stems. It does make one wonder how the first Watchers created this power in the first place.

I've seen the First Slayer with my own eyes. She was primal and more animal than human. Whatever it was that they did to her, I think to some degree, it turned her mad. To my knowledge, there doesn't exist any record of how the Slayer came to be, and if there was, I have no means to acquire this record anyway. If it exists, it is locked securely in one of the Council's most highly guarded vaults. I suppose I shall have to content myself with the present knowledge I have of the Slayer and her origins.

Buffy managed to save us all miraculously. Apparently, she chose to ignore the First Slayer, and thus diminished her power. We were all released from our death throes and saved. I've a bit of a headache now, but I'm otherwise unaffected by what occurred. So much for our movie night, I must say. We barely made it into the beginning credits of _Apocalypse Now._ Which, honestly, I'm alright with. I only take in so many films a year, I'd rather not waste my brain cells on that subject manner.

Joyce was kind enough to make us some hot chocolate, and I found that it has improved our spirits immensely. Ah, the wonders of cocoa. No one wishes to delve much deeper into their dreams. After all, dreams are quite private. They exist solely in ourselves and are visual conjurations of our purest creation. For my own part, I can only question what Olivia showing up in my dream was about. Upon analyzing myself and the recent events, I can only assume that she represents my anxiety about choosing my path. I know all too well that a life with Olivia meant a life without the Occult and the Slayer. Indeed, my dream-Olivia seemed quite upset that I was trying to balance the two lives. Even Spike made mention of this, that I need to make a decision. Only in my dreams, where Spike can borrow my IQ, is he actually right. I do need to make a decision.

Perhaps after the next mug of hot chocolate.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	79. Buffy vs Dracula

I have done what no Watcher before can ever boast—I've met Dracula.

He came to us at a time most pivotal. I had made plans to return to England. Indeed, I had even bought my ticket and informed my housekeepers in London that I was returning. Willow was aware of my plans. Indeed, she seemed rather adamant about inflating my importance to the others throughout this adventure. Her desperation to keep me in Sunnydale touched me. Willow is a sweet girl, but my mind was quite made up. My life in Sunnydale had become stagnant, and I require stimulation. My plan had been to create archives of information for Buffy and the others to utilize whenever they needed it.

Through a program on the computer, all they'd have to do is search, and my information would appear with whatever offensive stratagem would work best for the situation and target. The brilliance of computers, hm? It would seem Jenny was correct in thinking that computers were not a trend and would become part of our daily lives. It would have replaced me efficiently. Willow had been my main source of aid during this long project into the summer. Which was why I finally explained to Willow the purpose behind it.

Then Dracula arrived in Sunnydale. Indeed, Count Dracula, himself. Not an imposter or fanatic. Buffy, Xander and Willow came across him in the graveyard. He had, apparently, come to see the Slayer for himself, as he had heard about her from the far stretch of the world that he inhabited. Reportedly, he turned into mist and later a bat. Not a mere hallucination or visual manipulation either. He actually transformed entirely. Indeed, Dracula possessed powers that few vampires can even hope to possess. Though he was not the first vampire to be created, it seemed that when Dracula was made into a vampire, he was favored with special powers from whatever demon inhabited his body.

I wonder if it stems from the man himself before he was turned into a vampire. Perhaps the most written about vampire in history, Dracula was once just a man named Vlad who happened to be a gifted and cruel general and Count. His enemies, the Turks, attempted many times to destroy him, but he vanquished them, and then impaled the soldiers in reported fields that went on for miles. This is likely exaggerated, but the imagery is quite telling of the sort of man Vlad the Impaler had become. I wonder if Vlad had some unknowing ability with magicks. This sort of body transformation, not just into animal but element, is entrenched with magical power. Perhaps Vlad was an unknowing warlock.

Either way, at some point, he was approached by a man and accepted his gift of immortal life. It was then that Dracula was born. With the demon now living in his skin, his powers seemed to magnify, and he must have practiced and honed them until they reached the high-powered state they are in now. Besides his transformation abilities, Dracula also possesses the ability to read and control minds. He is unique in that he doesn't just feed off of victims but prefers instead to create a connection with them. Particularly fond of females—young females—he prefers to feed on them only when they have succumbed entirely to his will. When they burn in desperate passion for him, he feeds and changes them into a vampire.

This power of hypnosis was centered on Buffy. For a time, she was even succumbing to it. We found, to our alarm, that Dracula had fed off of her. She seemed unable to resist him. Our plan thus became to put as much distance between Buffy and Dracula that we could. Xander was to keep Buffy hidden in his basement. Willow and Tara were to place protection spells on Buffy's home—we later discovered that Dracula had controlled Joyce and ordered her to invite him into her home, which she did. Riley and I began our search for Dracula.

In all of the tales—accredited and not—Dracula prefers to live in lavish abodes. Lo and behold, Riley and I found a castle that we were both quite certain was not there before. In fact, since Dracula's demise, the castle has since vanished entirely, though I know I passed by where it once stood numerous times since then. Buffy was in this castle as well. Xander had fallen under Dracula's control as well and was doing his bidding. Considering his low intellect and undisciplined willpower, I am not surprised that Dracula was able to overpower him. He brought Buffy to Dracula.

Whilst in the castle, Riley and I split up to find the Count. I stumbled into some sort of pit and fell. Immediately, I was set upon by three women. In the tales, these were the three sisters that Dracula acquired and turned for his pleasure. His brides, if you will as I'm not sure Dracula ever bothered to actually wed them, seemed keen to . . . assault me. Yes. Assault. Should Riley ever write his own version of this adventure, I'd like to state here that I was never in trouble. I knew exactly what I was doing and had the situation entirely under control. The women were simply . . . nuzzling, licking and . . erm . . . gyrating . . . I was in complete control. As soon as the opportunity arose, I was going to fend them off and Stake them.

Unfortunately, Riley appeared and threw down a cross, ruining my chances to eliminate them. And that is exactly what happened. No matter what fanciful tale Riley may wish to divulge. Buffy broke free of Dracula's spell, and she drove a stake through his heart. Many times. Though we like to think that Dracula has been vanquished, the truth of the matter is that we simply do not know. As powerful as a vampire that he is—and since he's been able to cheat death numerous times—we're unsure if Buffy's attempts have truly killed him or simply injured him.

All the same, Dracula has vanished from Sunnydale. Being unable to completely seduce the Slayer, he's likely attempting to heal his wounded ego. With his disappearance, I thought it time to finally tell Buffy of my intentions to leave for England. I invited her over, steadfast in my decision. I even made her cookies to help any pain that may arise. Yet, when she arrived, she informed me that she had something to tell me as well. Drawing on her recent blunders with Dracula, she realized that she did not know anything about the primal power that existed within her. In fact, she'd been thinking about where this power came from and what she might learn from it since the Enjoining spell.

In short, she asked me to be her Watcher again. That she was too scared to search for these answers alone . . . and that she needed me. So, here I am . . . in Sunnydale, and in Sunnydale, I shall remain. My Slayer needs me. So long as she continues to need me, I shall always remain. It would seem I am a Watcher again.

My purpose has been restored.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	80. Real Me

I have officially joined the world of business.

Yes, indeed, I am now an entrepreneur. I don't know why I hadn't thought about it before. I suppose likely because the categories I have extensive knowledge over aren't exactly the sort of things one goes into business. The magic shop downtown has lost its most recent owner. Together with Buffy, Willow, Tara and Dawn, we discovered his body in the shop. Allow me to backtrack.

Since Buffy committed herself to a new form of training in an effort to understand her power, I've been instructing her in the ways of Kundalini . . . with a twist for a Slayer. Though the process involves deep meditation and centering, I've asked Buffy to strain her body as well, as it is clear that the power rests not just in her spirit, but in her body as well. In order to achieve the enlightenment she desires, I truly think that she most center both spirit and body. Upside down handstands, for example, are my current method of achieving this level of enlightenment.

To aid her journey, I've procured some smoky quartz. As anyone with decent knowledge of grounding stones knows, it is a wonderful aid in meditation and centering. It provides a grounded link between the physical and higher selves, precisely what Buffy needs. Not to mention, since it's a root chakra stone, it also enhances survival instincts, and what is a Slayer but one massive survival instinct? The reason I chose smoky quartz as well—the clear, transparent version—is that it also removes negative energy and provides protection—both psychically and physically. Considering that we have no real idea of what might happen if Buffy manages to tap into this raw power inside of her, I thought it best that we ward off any negative attack she may receive.

Naturally, with her training nearly every day, I ran out of fresh grounding stones, and Buffy and I planned on taking a quick trip down to the magic shop to procure some more. Dawn was also to join us, as Joyce had enlisted Buffy—and by extension, myself—in going shopping for school supplies. I feel I should make an aside here. I've never written about Dawn before . . . which is strange, considering I've known her as long as I have known Buffy.

Dawn is Buffy's younger sister. In true fashion among siblings—or as I observed, as I am an only child—the rivalry is intense. Whether this is made worse because they are sisters, as opposed to brother and sister, I am unsure. All the same, their relationship has always been . . . stormy . . . at best. Dawn is your standard teenager. A touch of angst, a tendency to make trouble and a deep desire to feel a part of something. As for my own relationship with her, I've attempted to take on a more paternal role towards her as I did with Buffy, but Dawn seems . . . less inclined to accept this role as Buffy had. Which is all well and good, I shant press where I'm not wanted. She has her own father, and I'm sure she feels strongly for him and wishes he was more present in her life. I see in Dawn a great potential. She enjoys her studies and is quite observant—clear indications of a bright mind. Though she walks both halves of the world—the dark and the light—I remain hopeful that she'll be able to succeed in the light half of the world, free from the death and darkness that Buffy is sworn to.

But she is young . . . and being young and a very American teenager, I find it difficult to make heads or tails of her. I rely on Buffy to explain some of things Dawn says or does. It makes me realize how out of my element I'd be if I had ever had a daughter. Still, being a Summers and the baby of the group, I do feel a fondness for her as well as an urge to protect. Buffy feels this strain more than anyone else, and obviously so. She likely thinks that it is her fault that Dawn is put in constant danger.

So, upon driving to the magic shop, oh! I forgot! My new car! Yes, I finally decided to sell my old 1963 Citroën DS—though it was mostly scrap, since Spike destroyed it—and bought a red BMW E30 325ic. It's a convertible and wonderfully sporty. The problem with it, however, is that it has an automatic transmission. Which means when I feel the need to downshift, I forget that I don't need to change gears and accidentally put the car into neutral instead. I even once put it into park, and that was a horrid experience. Having learned on stick and had nothing but stick cars for my entire life, I find this sitting in a car and allowing it to do as it needs to be terribly boring and even unsettling. The color is fantastic, and I quite enjoy how it makes me feel, but I may trade it in yet.

Now, finally, onto the events. We encountered Willow and Tara walking on the sidewalk towards the magic shop, and I stopped over, so we could speak with them. Willow complimented my car quite enthusiastically, I must add. Together, we walked over to the magic shop and found it dark. Upon entering, the entire shop was trashed. A few items had been obviously stolen. More importantly, the owner was dead on the floor, having been fed on by at least four vampires. In looking through the receipts and inventories, we discovered that a book on the Slayer had been stolen as well as a statue of an unicorn. Quite odd. However, I was more interested by the profit margins I found.

It would seem that the magic shop was doing quite well. Extraordinarily well, in fact. And since I have quite the extensive knowledge of most things magical—at least in terms of ingredients—I decided what I could finally do with all the free time I had. I took over the magic shop. I am now the owner of the Magic Box, and I have to say, I'm actually quite excited about it. There's something rather satisfying about being one's own employer and earning money for oneself through one's own hard work.

Hard work, indeed. Since I signed the rental agreement, I've been hard pressed to restock and clean up the place for the grand reopening. I've found a nice stock room in the back that's large enough for me to clear out a space to train Buffy as well. Considering that I was renting out a room to do this before, I'm quite happy with the discovery. I've just shown it to Buffy who agrees that she can train in it. I'll bring down the mats and dummies later on. First, I really need to stock these shelves and put in an order for some of the supplies that we're low on.

Some of the ingredients are a tad trickier to come by, but I've a few connections in the markets who should be happy to form a business deal with me. Yes, I have a fantastic feeling about this new chapter in my life. Already, I feel a great deal more focused, energetic and excited. There's a sense of comfort as well, in knowing that should Buffy feel that she has moved on from her Watcher, I still have something I can focus my energies on.

I suppose I should report on the incident that occurred whilst I was busy becoming a business owner. Apparently, Dawn accidentally invited Harmony—yes, she's still around—into her home. As one can imagine, Buffy was quite angry. Dawn was even kidnapped by the foolish gang that Harmony had created for herself and nearly killed. Buffy managed to find her and rescued her, but judging by Buffy's close eye on Dawn at the shop today, I'm sure things are quite tense at home at the moment.

That's all I have time to write for now. There's still so much to do for the shop. I'm thinking of rearranging some of the shelving to allow for more room in the center, but the shelves are so heavy . . .

. . . I think I'll ask Buffy to move them for me.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	81. The Replacement

I have discovered the eighth circle of Hell—multiple Xander Harris'.

No, this was not some fanciful nightmare my mind conjured up. There were, in fact, two Xander's present at the same time. This unfortunate and cruel cosmic joke was performed by a demon Toth. I encountered Toth whilst at my magic shop, doing a bit of stocking. Toth was, apparently, looking for the Slayer. Though I fended him off—with a heavy fertility statue, no less—he majestically swept out of the shop more or less unharmed. Besides the bruise on my head, I can happily claim the same. If the magic shop has some sort of curse upon its owners, it seems I have thwarted its first attempt on my life.

Toth, an ancient demon, possessed incredible strength and sophistication. Instead of fighting with his hands, he fought with a rod. This was demonstrated when we found him in the Sunnydale dump. We also found Spike there, though considering the vampire's habits and lifestyle choices, I'm hardly surprised he's taken to haunting the city dump these days. Toth, on the other hand, was ready for us. He started shooting an odd sort of beam from his rod. Luckily for most of us, it missed. However, Xander took a dose straight in the chest.

At first, we noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Even Xander, who appeared simply disoriented, didn't realize that something had happened to him. This rod, called the _Ferula Gemina,_ has the ability to split a person into two parts. The personality is then distilled between the halves. The strongest traits in one body, and the weakest in the other. It is clear that Toth's plans were to hit Buffy with this rod, and have her split into halves. One would contain all the strength, power, cleverness of the Slayer. She would be a warrior without match. The other, on the other hand, would be Buffy had she never been Chosen for her destiny. A simple girl possessing normal strength and common agility. Toth would easily be able to slay this weaker form of Buffy. Since the two halves require one another to exist, the death of this one half would result in the death of the far stronger half. Toth would kill Buffy without even having to face the actual Slayer herself.

Unfortunately, this plan went a tad awry. Xander was split into two halves instead. One possessed all of the strengths of Xander's personality. The other possessed all of the weaknesses of Xander's personality. Both became intolerable. It would appear, to me at least, that there isn't a single aspect of Xander that I don't find tiresome. And so, I suffered quietly whilst drawing up the necessary circle for the spell of Reintegration that would combine the two halves back into one. My suffering knew no bounds when Anya decided to "twist the screws" as it were by suggesting that she take both Xanders home with her and . . . well . . . I am sure one can imagine.

Suffice it to say, it's an image I've been attempting to burn from my mind since. With Xander making endless jokes with himself, I hurriedly finished the circle, so we could be rid of one, at the very least. Both Xanders stepped into the circle, and after lighting the necessary candles, we formed around him. Willow broke Toth's spell, and both Xanders were joined into a single entity once more. Thank god. I have seen the true nature of Hell . . .

. . . and I have survived.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	82. Out of My Mind

I think something happened today.

Honestly, I've been so involved with the shop that I've rather fallen out of the circle. Xander was aiding me in building some extra shelves. Somehow, the young man seems to have stumbled upon a profession that actually suits him. Carpentry. Through time and experience, he's become quite the craftsman. Indeed, the shelves he built for me I expect to last for decades. Not to mention, he seems to have found an enjoyment in the work as well. Yes, Xander is doing very well for himself.

I finished up the training room in the back as well. There was some stock and unused furniture back there that I've either incorporated or sold off. Buffy came by and saw it. I'm happy to report that she was in utter awe. As she should be, I've equipped the training room with almost everything that she could require. Mats, training dummies, a few targets. I've also scrawled some runes onto the walls. Those of focus, protection, strength and agility. In theory, they should imbue those who go near them with their essence. I rather think I've outdone myself. There's nothing more a Slayer could need . . . except perhaps an actual vampire to train against. Perhaps I'll chain Spike to the wall. He isn't doing much these days.

Except trying to get the chip out of his brain, so he can go back to harming people. The slimy little pillock kidnapped a surgeon who had been brought in to aid with Riley's condition. Oh yes, Riley. Apparently, he was suffering from some sort of Tachycardia. No doubt due to the absence of the stimulants and steroids that he was fed through his meals during his time at the Initiative. I should mention that this condition was discovered because Buffy's mother, Joyce, collapsed at home. Though she gave us all a little scare, she has ensured us that she feels just fine. It is not uncommon to faint in the Californian heat. I nearly have done so myself before.

As for Riley, after much persuasion, he agreed to finally see the doctor that might cure his condition. As I mentioned, Spike had kidnapped that doctor, since he had been a part of the Initiative as well, in the hopes of removing the chip. I'm pleased to say the doctor did not, and the chip remains in place. Heroes are found everywhere, and in today's society, it's nice to see a doctor who takes his profession with the same code of honor as in the days of old. Spike was not alone in this attempt either. Harmony was aiding him, though goodness knows why. One would think she'd had her fill of abuse. Spike isn't _that_ charming. In fact, he's as charming as a toadstool.

Thankfully, Buffy gave them both a good fight—though still waiting to hear that Spike has been staked—and Riley was able to receive the medical attention that he needed. On the grand scale of things, this was actually quite a quiet day. Though I will say that it took a great deal of prying to get it out of Buffy. Particularly in regards to Riley. I received a lot of, "it's fine. We're fine" before she finally opened up. It seems that it took a great deal of prodding and pushing for Riley to see the doctor. Buffy confided that Riley expressed concern over not being enough for her. She appeared rather frustrated over the entire ordeal. Trouble in paradise, indeed.

Riley is a nice young man, certainly. His devotion and adoration of Buffy calmed my protective nature over her. As one can imagine, I only want the best for Buffy. This includes the best sort of man who would rather die than to hurt her in any manner. I thought this might be Riley for a time . . . and then I realized that other than . . . erm . . . physical compatibility . . . they really have nothing else in common. Their professions and goals are similar, yes, but they can't sit down and have a conversation about anything besides their work. Having been through a few relationships myself, I understand how important this connection is to have with someone. I fear the worst for their relationship. Which means I fear for the emotional turmoil that Buffy will suffer.

I should stock up on some ice cream.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	83. No Place Like Home

I have never been more exhausted in my life.

I remind my reader(s) that I have spent a few days at a time without sleep before. Even still, tonight I am exhausted to the point of paralysis. I really don't think I'm going to make it back home from the shop. It's a good thing I planned ahead and have a set of blankets and pillows in the training room. Collapsing on the sofa back there for a good night's rest seems more plausible by the second.

Today was the Grand Opening of the Magic Box. After quite a bit of work reorganizing and making connections with traders to stock the shop, it was finally opened today. Much to Willow's delight, I had decided to incorporate a sort of work uniform to set the mood. So, I purchased myself a wizard cloak and hat. Really, I was quite excited to wear it. However, when Buffy came in and saw me in this costume, the . . . distaste in her gaze was nearly . . . palpable. No words were spoken. Her message was received quite clearly—the costume was silly. A pity. I thought it looked rather wonderful.

All the same, the shop had been open for an hour and a half, and I hadn't received a single customer. As the owner of any new business will admit, the feeling one receives in an empty store is a crippling fear. One has put so much time and effort and money into making a successful business that when there isn't an immediate response from customers, it can be . . . disheartening. Still, I was occupied for a bit. Dawn rather bluntly informed everyone that Buffy thought Riley was weak, and she couldn't be looking out for anyone during her patrols. Understandably, he felt a need to train afterwards, and so I spent some time putting him through a few sets.

We didn't discuss much. It seems that Riley is similar to myself in that we internalize a lot of our emotional thoughts and feelings. I dissect and alleviate mine through the pen. He does so by hitting a punching bag until he's exhausted. To each their own, I suppose. However, this supports my theory that the relationship shared between Buffy and Riley continues to be strained.

Around noon, I received my first customers. They were a lovely couple, and I was able to use my thoroughly-practiced post-sale speech. I think they were pleased. Either way, I had made my first sale. Before I could thoroughly enjoy the victory of my sale, Anya came in with some other customers and immediately announced—quite loudly—that some of my ingredients were overpriced. Naturally, alarmed that my other customers might hear this and leave, I hushed her as quickly as I could. The ingredient in question was actually one that is expensive in itself to procure. Anya surprised me in saying she could connect me with a primary supplier—the troll who shed the ingredient itself.

Indeed, Anya has surprised me numerous times today. Though a little hard-handed in her interactions with the customers, she seems to have a shrewd business mind. More importantly, she has boundless amounts of energy. I'm not the only one sitting down in silent agony. Willow and Xander—who were kind enough to help when the shop became atrociously busy—are both knackered as well. Willow complained of sore feet. Xander complained of lower back pain. I have both. I win . . . or I lose. Since Anya has proven herself to be quite an asset, I've decided to take her on officially as an employee. This may prove to be a terrible decision, but at the moment, all I can focus on is my utter inability to move a single limb—save my hand, obviously.

Speaking of the mad rush, it was exactly that. An endless mob of people all rushed into the store at once. They were everywhere, and they all seemed to speaking at once. Numerous times, I thought I was drowning in the sea of babble. Back and forth, back and forth, to this customer to that customer, and all the questions! I'm beginning to understand why self-prescribed introverts do not own and run businesses. That was far too much social interaction to suffer in one day. Though I am pleased with the amount of money the shop pulled in today, I can't help but hope it's a little quieter tomorrow.

Especially since I was unable to aid Buffy as much as I would have liked today. The poor girl has been running to and fro, trying to figure out the cause of what is ailing her mother. Joyce, it seems, has not been doing much better since her collapse. She's been complaining of headaches. It's a worrisome symptom, and I understand Buffy's desire to see that it is diagnosed as quickly as possible. She seemed to believe that it might be something supernatural. This was based on her running into a night watchman she encountered the previous evening. The watchman mistakenly gave her a glowing sphere.

This sphere we discovered—amid the chaos of the shop—to be a Dagon Sphere. It's an extremely old device used to ward off ancient primordial evil. How it is made, and what it is made of, I am uncertain as of yet. However, the description said that it was created to repel, and I quote, "that which cannot be named." If the sphere is designed to protect ancient evil, then whatever it is that is around—whether it is afflicting Buffy's mother or not—it could be extremely dangerous. Ancient evils are sometimes the most primal and powerful of forces in existence. Some are so old, they simply do not have names. Others have names that humans have attributed to religious demonagraphy—Lust, Wrath, Greed, Gluttony—to name a few. The Seven Sins.

Though I doubt that one of _those_ ancient evils is about, the fact that there is a Dagon Sphere here does bring me a sense of worry. Even more so, because Buffy has tangled herself up in it. To return to the story of the night watchman, he apparently went mad overnight and babbled something about, "they'll come at her (Buffy) through her family." It was this statement that turned Buffy's thoughts to a supernatural affliction. That someone was causing Joyce pain to get to her. Though I wouldn't be surprised if someone chose this method to needle at the Slayer, I am rather in the dark as to who could be behind the attack.

It would have to be a magical one. Anya and Willow thought the same, which was why tracing the spell was suggested. This is done by falling into a trance. It could be quite difficult to perform for a newcomer, but Buffy insisted on performing it herself. This is where I wished I had been available to aid her. Instead, I was rather swamped with aiding customers. Buffy performed the ritual though apparently it didn't work. If it had, she'd have entered a trancelike state where she'd be able to see the mark of magic that had been performed. It could have been, for example, an image of a hand choking her mother.

Since the ritual did not work, Buffy has chosen to return to the abandoned building where the Dagon Sphere was found. Though I'm sure she'll be fine, my concern rests in her . . . well . . . rushing. She obviously seems to think she's working on borrowed time. If she conducts herself in a manner of tunnel vision, she might just get hurt. She'll be making decisions rashly, and that is when she is at her most vulnerable. I'll have to speak with her tomorrow. I know she's worried about her mother, but she's going to have to accept that there is only so much a person can do.

Even a Slayer.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	84. Family

In keeping with the tradition of birthdays gone bad, we had a rather interesting incident with Tara's birthday.

First, however, I should devote some paper to the curious tale of Dawn Summers. I've considered not putting this down in ink, should this journal ever fall into the wrong hands, but with something this extraordinary . . . without having a document to support the claim . . . it would fall into myth. Something this significant should not become a mere legend. I believe Dawn Summers is worth more than that.

I was contacted late in the evening by Buffy, who asked me to stop over. She informed me she had a serious matter to discuss. Once I arrived, she recounted a fight she'd had with a woman of extraordinary strength. Inhuman strength, in fact, but she was not a vampire. In fact, she is a breed of demon yet unknown to us. The woman had a monk held hostage, whom Buffy freed. However, the injuries the monk sustained during his time with the demon eventually made him succumb to them. Before doing so, he informed Buffy that the demon as after something called the Key. His Order served to protect it and keep it from this demon. The Key, originally, was energy—I have more research to do on this subject at a later date—but it was transformed into human flesh and put under the Slayer's protection.

Dawn Summers did not exist until a few months ago. It's incredible to think about. I can recall memories expanding since I first met Buffy. Through her, I met her sister Dawn as well. The memories are so very vivid. They even invoke emotion in me. Buffy described a similar state. She intimated to me the story of when her father left the family. Dawn had cried for a week, and it had been difficult for Buffy. She remembers it clearly, including the emotion. Everything in me wants to believe that Buffy is wrong. That Dawn can't be this Key, and that she's just a normal teenaged girl. My memories tell me so. My gut tells me so. This spell that the Monks performed is intricate and likely demanded a great deal of power. It is perfect in its design and casting.

So, we now have a demon after Dawn. Considering that a key unlocks, and a demon is looking to unlock something, her safety is rather paramount. As such, Buffy and I have decided to keep it between us. The others do not know of Dawn's true . . . err . . . identity. Nor does Dawn herself. Though I understand the benefits of her knowing her origins, she was made to be a "typical" teenaged girl. She doesn't have the current self-esteem or self-support to work through this rationally. It may lead her into making some unwise and unfortunate decisions.

Our efforts have since been put forth to figuring out the identity of this demon and what she could possibly want with Dawn. It's been a slow process, as Buffy's description of the demon has been . . . obscure . . . to say the least. The demon appears as a human woman with the personality—in Buffy's words—of our former ally, Cordelia Chase. That means heavy on the snob and light on the tact. As one can imagine, that profile doesn't exactly narrow it down. Over the past few days, I've been going through my collection and pulling out anything that might shed some light on this mysterious enemy. Anya has been a great help in this regard, as she's taken up most of the work at the front of the shop. Indeed, she's garnered a zeal in making money. In fact, her bubbliness might soon scare customers off with the intensity of it. No one can be that bubbly and be sane.

My method of searching was changed when I decided to come at it through a different angle. Instead of just focusing on the demon, I began to look for the monk instead. If I could find the Order he was a part of, perhaps there might be details about what—or who—they defended against. As such, I'd called in the group with the new stack of books, and we set to work.

I should also mention that Tara's family arrived from . . . well . . . wherever they're from. I understand that families can sometimes be awkward, but Tara's family . . . they quite took the cake. It was abundantly clear to all of us that there was some tension amongst its members, and Tara appeared quite uncomfortable with their presence. They were there to celebrate her birthday . . . or so they claimed. Their true intentions were revealed later.

Anyway, during our research session, Tara performed a spell on us. It would seem that in the female line of her family, there was a demonic presence. Her father claimed that this was the source of her magic. In her desperate fear to keep us from seeing that part of her, she formed a spell that would blind us to her demonic side . . . with the side effect that we became blind to _all_ demons. As such, when a pack of Lei-Ach demons came knocking, we were unable to see them. Lei-Ach demons were once a proud, warrior race of demons. After they conquered their foes, they'd celebrate and nourish themselves by sucking the bone marrow from their victims. They also contain a vomeronasal organ which allows them to smell . . . similar to a snake.

They attacked us. I placed Dawn under my desk in the hopes of keeping her safe and stood guard. Our foes were, for all intents and purposes, invisible. It's quite a terrifying concept, and even more so in practice. I was only punched the once, but it was unexpected and nearly sent me off of my foot. Luckily, my jaw wasn't broken, but my cheek is quite tender. Xander was nearly choked to death, but Willow managed to blindly knock the demon off of him with a chair. Of course, the demon also threw Willow nearly straight across the room. Buffy performed exceptionally well. She took down quite a few of the demons. She even tapped into her senses to locate them and take them down. I'm pleased to say that her training is paying off.

At some point during the fray, Tara came in and lifted the spell. We were able to see Lei-Ach demons. Spike was there as well. I assume he was fighting one of them, but I'm actually not exactly sure why he was in my shop. It isn't as though he's particularly welcome. Though he was of use in one particular part of the evening. Tara's family came into the shop demanding that she come home with them. It was here revealed that Tara supposedly had a demon inside of her. To test that theory, Spike punched her . . . and received a shock of pain as a consequence. Thus, it was proven that Tara was, in fact, not a demon.

I think Spike put it correctly when he insinuated to her father that he used the excuse of a demon to keep the women of his family in check. Tara's father—and brother, really—both seem to belong to the dying world of 1950s misogyny. There was a stand-off, a rather emotionally tense one, but Buffy officially welcomed Tara into the fold by standing up to her father. She said it true when she called us Tara's family. We may not know her that well—I certainly know I don't—but she is, all the same, one of us. We don't turn our backs on one another.

Tara's family left—thankfully—and we all dressed up and went to the Bronze to celebrate Tara's birthday. As one might expect, I was the oldest one there. I really need to find some adult friends. Otherwise, I'll just continue to look like the bloody designated chaperone. Of a more personal note, Tara loved the crystal ball I gave to her—even if my extremely interesting explanation of the crystal was interrupted by an overexcited Dawn with her present (a broom). It was an enjoyable evening. One, I imagine, we will need in order to face the coming days.

In the event that Tara reads these pages one day, and I am no longer . . . well . . . around . . . allow me to say this.

Happy Birthday, Tara.

Welcome to the gang.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	85. A Fool for Love

All-in-all, it's been a relatively quiet couple of days.

Our unknown demon has yet to make a move or even an appearance since Buffy's run-in with her. Since that is the case, Buffy has spent her time patrolling for vampires instead. She'd been knocking down the vampire population until last night. Somehow, the vampire gained the upper hand and nearly killed her with her own Stake. As one can imagine, Buffy was quite startled and shamed by this incident.

She came by tonight wanting to look through the Watcher journals and histories to determine how Slayers died. Particularly, she wished to know how the final battle went, so she could understand how to protect herself. As I attempted to explain to her, there isn't a great amount of information on the subject. I certainly know I'm not the only Watcher with a strong connection to their Slayer. As such, I know that should Buffy ever fall—God willing, that not be until she's 103, and I've long since succumbed to age, myself—I will be . . . unable to quite report on it.

It may help future Slayers, this is true, and Buffy would likely want me to as well. However, just the thought alone is enough to put me in some sort of depressed comatose state. So many Watchers simply bury themselves in a "normal" life after the death of their Slayer. They simply cannot stand to be part of the fight any longer. I've entertained thoughts of retiring from the fight, myself, but the thought of Buffy fighting alone always draws me back. I don't think I could ever truly leave it so long as she lived.

. . . But if she didn't. If I awoke one day and found myself out of a job because my reason no longer existed, then I'd likely follow suit and disappear. Many have taken up old jobs in the museums scattered across the world. I might find some form of healing in being a historian again. But to write on the end of my Slayer? I know Buffy would want me to, but I don't think I could. She'll never understand that though she is saving the world on an almost daily basis . . . to me, she is _my_ world. I exist because she exists, and the opposite is true as well.

This topic is distressing enough. Buffy is fine. She only had a mere slip up. Once her alarm is put to rest, she'll feel better, and this incident will be nothing but a humorous memory. I have a rare one among Slayers. I know it. She's going to change the world.

She's already changed mine.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	86. Shadow

Excuse the pun, but it's been one Hell of a day.

. . . The pun is that perhaps one of the most ancient demons to ever exist purchased from my shop, and the product of her purchases took the form of a reptilian demon and crashed through my store window. In my defense, I did not know at the time that the young woman to whom I sold a Kohl's Amulet and Sobekium Bloodstone was actually the demon who had trounced Buffy rather handedly. I'd also like to add that I was not the only one there. Anyone could have stopped me if they had had the forth sight to notice exactly _what_ the woman was purchasing. No one did. I rest my case.

Honestly, the day started out quite nicely. I've recently put in an Ad in the telephone book. A nice large space at the bottom with a catchy motto: Your one-stop spot to shop for all your occult needs. Really, quite clever, I thought. Tara had been over earlier to aid me in our ever-continuing search for the demon after the Key. On that regard, we did make some progress . . . in a manner of speaking. Tara brought up the point that the demon we're searching for may be so ancient, that she predates the written word. Willow followed this by reminding me of the Dagon Sphere's purpose—to protect against that which cannot be named. This then prompted me to suggest that this demon may predate language itself. It was at this moment where the demon, herself, interrupted in her desire to purchase the Amulet and bloodstone.

Of the woman, I can only recall that she was . . . well . . . aesthetically quite pleasing. Blond hair. Symmetrical face. Plump lips. Well-proportioned. She was a tad impatient though. And obviously very evil . . . Yes.

It was later when Anya was going through the store's receipts that she noticed my . . . er . . . blunder. A note to all who may be reading this, be you Slayer, Watcher or simple Occult shop owner . . . never sell a Kohl's Amulet and Sobekium Bloodstone together. The purpose of two such instruments is transmogrification. The amulet actually serves as a conduit for transmogrification. Though the Sobekium spells were reportedly lost ages ago, I suppose one should never assume the hobbies of demon archaeologists . . . as my darling cashier so loudly pointed out to me. I should note here that the Sobekium's were an ancient Egyptian cult that practiced heavily in dark magicks. Among their interests was that of transmogrification—changing a living thing into a different kind of thing of one's desire.

Based on the ruins etched into the bloodstone, we were able to determine that the demon intended to make something out of a cobra. Buffy had joined us by this point, and once we had relayed all this information to her, she was keen on heading it off. Speaking of Buffy, the poor girl is going through a rough time at the moment. It appears that her mother has a tumor in her brain. The headaches, the fainting spells . . . all of it were symptoms. Joyce is currently in hospital at the moment, and I hope to stop by sometime soon to extend my warm wishes, but I can tell that is weighing heavily on Buffy. She even asked, obviously desperately hoping, that there might be some potion or spell that might heal her mother.

I feel for her. When a parent falls ill, it renders one desperately immovable. One wants to just get in there and fight the disease itself and help, but one simply can't. Buffy is a Slayer. She's used to saving lives with her fists and strength, but this is a battle that literally can do nothing but sit through. Her eagerness to get into a scrap is understandable, but I did worry over her gung-ho-ing to find the demon and take her down. Sure enough, I received a call an hour or so later from Buffy. She confirmed my suspicions about not being able to even hit the demon.

She did learn a few things though. One, our demon is named Glory. Two, she has a minion—or minions—aiding her in her cause. Three, she was successful with the transmogrification. The creature, which I saw with my own eyes, was essentially a large cobra. It's upper half was humanoid-like, though by and large, it retained its Cobra . . . er . . . ness. Buffy returned to the shop, and not long after, this cobra decided to be one of my patrons. He came to window shop, or should I say . . . window crash? Dear lord, Xander's been hanging around the shop too often.

It did though. The cobra completely shattered the window. I have to order a new one, but I'll bloody take care of that in the morning. Buffy was stuck underneath a shelf, and since we knew that the cobra was there for the . . . Key . . . I moved to protect it. Instead of attempting to hurt or steal the Key, however, the cobra simply looked at her before slithering back the way it came. Its purpose was made clear—it was going to inform Glory where the Key was.

Eager to lend a hand, I got into my car and picked up Buffy, and we chased down the cobra. It was rather thrilling. I haven't joyrode since the Ripper days, and my new Sports car did not disappoint. I was right on the cobra's tail until it slithered into the park. Buffy jumped out after it, and I searched for a parking spot without a parking meter. It took a bit, those buggering things are everywhere. By the time I reached the park, Buffy had already beaten the cobra to death. It did not get to deliver its message.

I took Buffy back to the hospital to see her mother, and then went home. Though we succeeded in stalling Glory a little longer in finding the Key, a dark cloud is still settling over the Summers residence. From what I understand, Buffy and her mother are going to break the news about the tumor to Dawn tonight. I find myself caught in wanting to be there for Buffy, but also understanding that it is not my place to be there. I may consider her family, but it is situations like these that remind me that I am only on the fringe. All I can do is . . . my best . . . in trying to comfort and support her. Whatever her needs may be.

Perhaps I'll bring some flowers to Joyce's room tomorrow morning.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	87. Listening to Fear

Should one of the Scoobies ever write about this adventure—and it is incredibly unlikely that they will—allow me to set the record straight at the very beginning—we did _not_ have a close encounter with the Third Kind.

For those unfamiliar with science fiction, that means aliens. Yes, a meteor did fall from the sky, as witnessed by Tara and Willow. Yes, the creature did come from the meteorite, thus coming from space. Yes, the creature possessed bodily fluids harmful to human tissue. However, this creature, discovered to be a Queller demon, is nothing but that—a demon. Not an alien. If it were, there's a chance that it would have visited the planet for another reason besides wreaking havoc on the populace. Or, more specifically, the Slayer and her family and friends. Perhaps to give the human race a good kick up the arse, for example, in the hopes of sorting out their issues.

Alas, we found ourselves facing a Queller demon. It took some time to discover exactly what the creature was in the first place. After I received a call from Tara and Willow about the meteor crashing into a forest just outside of Sunnydale, I joined the crew to investigate. Buffy was unavailable to join us, as Joyce's operation was scheduled for the next day. No one had the heart to ask her to leave her mother's side. So it was that Xander, Willow, Riley, Anya, Tara and myself hiked through the forest to find this meteorite.

It was rather simple, as the meteorite gauged up the earth quite well. There was a long, fiery ditch that it had made until it came to a rest. The meteorite itself was hollow, which suggested that something had been inside of it. Sure enough, Willow discovered the body of a man she had seen at hospital. According to Willow, the man had displayed some characteristics of a mental disorder. Upon further inspection, Riley discovered a foul-smelling goo of some sort collected in the man's mouth. The smell was revolting. The only description I can come close to is a mix of sulfur with ammonia and rotten eggs. It was a wonder none of us vomited at the stench.

Since it was clear we needed to begin research, the majority of us left. Riley chose to remain behind to investigate the body and the surrounding forest further. It should be noted that I think Riley wished to do so to make amends for not joining us on the previous night's adventure of vampire slaying. As I mentioned before, Buffy has been tending to her mother and sister, and so her patrol fell to us. Riley was supposed to be part of that task force, considering that he is our heavy weight when Buffy isn't there. Instead, it was just Xander, Willow and myself slaying quite a number of vampires.

The fight was rough. Though I held my own, I was tossed about like a rag doll every now and then. There was a female vampire in particular, of whom I swear was on her way of being a body builder before she became undead. She was quite intimidating and would have ended both Xander and I had Willow not stepped in and rescued us. Still, when it's all said and done, I'm pleased to report that even without Buffy, the three most veteran Scoobies can dust a few standard vampires without too much bodily harm.

We've come a long way.

Anyway, to return to the research for the space demon, we centered our focus on meteorites and any events that linked up with a meteorite crashing into earth. My primary concern was that there were other meteorites crashing into earth. That a demon race was beginning an invasion. Luckily, that was not the case. It was a single demon summoned for a specific purpose. We discovered that in the middle ages, there were bouts of madness, but after a time, they would subside. These periods of sanity would follow a meteorite crashing. It became clear that this demon was summoned, and it would kill or feast upon those who were insane. It would "quell" the madmen.

This fit our modus operandi for the body we discovered in the forest, as well as the numerous deaths in the mental ward of the hospital that Riley reported to us later. Our concern rested with finding this demon and killing it before it could kill anyone else. Until this point, it was unknown to me that Joyce had been having spells of madness due to the tumor in her brain. The Queller's next target became clear. It would seem that Buffy did not get a night off from her duties, after all, as she was the one who ended up killing the Queller demon in her own home, saving her mother in the process.

Another demon added to the 'Killed' list. A new species for me to add to my bestiary as well. There is one mystery yet to solve, however, and that is the identity of the one who summoned the Queller in the first place. Unless the demon mistakenly crashed onto the planet, he was brought here by someone. Our leading suspect is Glory, though I'm not entirely sure how killing mental patients aids in her quest to find the Key. We'll have to continue searching, but for now, I must end this journal here. Joyce's operation is today, and the gang is gathering together at hospital to send her off with well and warm wishes.

For everyone's sake, I hope Joyce comes out alright.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	88. Into the Woods

I am relieved to report that Joyce's operation has been a success.

The Doctors were able to remove the tumor, and she'll be able to return home in a few days. I suppose they won't likely know if there was any lasting damage for a few weeks. Brain surgeries are such tricky things. Consequences from the surgery, or even from the tumor, might not show themselves for months after even. Still, for now, it's a blessing. Buffy is far more relaxed than I've seen her for some time. Dawn as well. Though the threat of Glory still hangs over our heads, for a moment, we can all breathe a sigh of relief.

Whilst everyone is celebrating, I've my shop to mind. It's the holiday season! Which means I get to take part in that age-old tradition . . . Christmas sales. I've had to go through our inventories and make the adjustments needed after careful calculation. I don't want to find myself suddenly without stock. Especially when prices return to their pre-holiday numbers. It is not as simple as just lowering prices either. Decorations are required. Since the Magic Show draws in crowds from varying backgrounds, I've had to decorate the shop in such a way that is appealing to everyone. This is not easy to do in America, I've found.

That aside, Buffy stopped by earlier today during shop hours and was quite . . . irate. It seems she learned about a vampire nest. Not just any vampire nest either, this one involved blood-letting addicts. I encountered these groups of people in my Ripper days. Those with knowledge of the supernatural world and were looking for a high a bit better than what recreational drugs could give, would visit these dens of vampires. In exchange for money, vampires would bite and feed off of them though stop before they died. It's obvious why this exchange benefited vampires the most. Not only did they receive an easy meal, but they also received income.

The economy in England in the seventies was not the most flourishing. In London, this was particularly felt. Historians now consider it a reason that led to an increase in the punk subculture that I participated in. Perhaps it was, and perhaps it was not. Either way, even vampires felt the financial strain. Many of these dens thus opened up. I recall quite a few nights where Ethan Rayne and I would be leaving a party in the dead of night, and we'd see staggering groups of people with pale-faces and bloody necks. They looked as though they had the time of their lives, but I can honestly say that I never dabbled in that scene. I had my own high.

This practice had, apparently, cropped up in Sunnydale at some point, and Buff was hellbent on putting a stop to it. I should remark that I am not exaggerating when I say she was hellbent. Despite this den being a small issue, Buffy marched right over to put a stop to it. Xander, Willow and myself joined her, since we were unsure as to the exact number in the den. When we arrived, we found the nest abandoned. They must have received word that the Slayer was onto them and fled the night before. Buffy wasn't pleased and ended up torching the place. After that, she stormed off back to the shop.

As far as I know, she's been in there since. Training. I left the shop early to track down a few rare items for the holiday sale, so I can only hope that I don't return tomorrow to find that Buffy's destroyed the place in some misplaced fit of rage. I'm not entirely sure what brought this change in her. At the hospital, she was in high spirits. Then she went home with Riley, and the next that I saw her, she was on a crusade to vanquish the den. No one's telling me anything, and honestly, I rather prefer to stay out of the love lives loop—though Anya seems adamant about my knowing every detail of her and Xander's—but I have a feeling Buffy and Riley had a bit of a fight. I'm not sure what over, and I'm not particularly inclined to find out, unless Buffy continues her headstrong desire to vanquish and destroy.

Though if she is, I hope she focuses her attention on Glory.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	89. Triangle

Let this be a lesson to future me: Never trust Anya and Willow alone with the shop.

In my desperation—and in some part wisdom—I made the decision to speak with the Watcher's Council about our resident demon—Glory. My intention was to go through their expansive collection of histories and hopefully find some mention of the demon Glorificus, in the hopes of discovering not only why she desires the Key, but also a means to destroy her. This decision was made prior to anyone telling me that Buffy and Riley had split up. In fact, I found out the day before my flight was scheduled.

According to Buffy, Riley had been one of those misguided individuals paying money to be fed on by vampires. He had, apparently, become addicted to it. This discovery led to a rather heated fight between the two which resulted in Riley leaving with the reformed Initiative to . . . somewhere . . . where it's tropical, from what I understand. Buffy seems to be taking this hardship a great deal better than when she and Angel had parted company. This may be due to many factors, including the growth in her emotional maturity. Buffy is not new to heartbreak. As she has assured me, she will be fine.

Still, I was uneasy in leaving behind her under such an emotional strain, especially right after the taxing experience with her mother. When I expressed my concern, she—and the others, in fact—expressed an almost . . . excited . . . delight in my leaving town for a few days. Really, one might consider their enthusiasm a tad offensive. Anya was the most excited, since she seemed to think that she could essentially take over my shop whilst I was gone. While I have grown to trust her in regards to the inventory and financial portion of running the shop, her customer service still leaves much to be desired.

In fact, her rather blunt manner of speech has perturbed so many customers, I've carefully boxed her professional duties into staying as far away from them as I can get her. At the time, when Willow offered her aid, I thought I was quite lucky. However, considering all that has happened since I acquiesced, I really rather wish I had outsourced some additional help. Or . . . just . . . closed shop for a few days. The loss of profits would have likely been the same cost as the damage control I'm going to have to fund to fix the remains of the shop.

Whilst I was away, Willow and Anya had a squabble. Over Xander. This squabble led to a Troll being unleashed on Sunnydale, the climax of which was hosted in my shop. So many shelves broken . . . glass to be repaired . . . broken items to be restored. When I returned after my three-day stay in England, I very nearly had a fainting spell seeing all of the damage. They had tried to clean it, of course, but there was just so . . . _much._ I even need new floorboards. Suffice it to say, Willow shall be helping out at the shop to help pay for the repairs, and Anya's pay is going to be docked for a period of time.

I had the foresight to cut my trip short. I had hoped to visit my home in Bath and London to check in on the staff keeping the house whilst I'm away, but that was cut out. Instead, and as I reported to Buffy, I went to the Council, and after a bit of prostrating, they finally allowed me some time in their libraries. I told them all I knew about Glory, though I was mindful in keeping the identity of the Key well-hidden. Oh, I should note that Joyce is also aware of the Key's true identity. Apparently, due to her tumor, she came to realize that Dawn had not always been there. She was present when I brought Buffy up to speed on the aid—or lack of aid—that the Council provided.

In truth, my trip was a waste. Even in the Council's most ancient of texts, there wasn't a single clue or correlation to Glorificus. If we were correct in our estimation of Glorificus existing pre-written word or language, then we are truly in a state of trouble. So much of the Council's information is based on text. **They even have some of the lost Dead Sea Scrolls.** I don't think I should have written that. Regardless, my arse-kissing brought us naught. Though they were quite pleased to see the unemployed former Watcher begging for information.

Pillocks.

-Rupert Giles

2000


	90. Checkpoint

**Author's Note:**

 **Hello, everyone! I just wanted to give a quick thank-you for the patience during the last few months. University was kicking my arse this semester, so I didn't get to write nearly as much as I wanted. Thankfully, that semester is over, and I have a free summer ahead of me, so you can expect daily updates once more! Again, thank-you to everyone for reading and reliving the incredible tale that is Buffy The Vampire Slayer. A special thank-you to LunaLikesSimonCats for their consistent reviews. They are always a delight to read.**

 **Enjoy!**

I'm a Watcher again!

We've had a rather Hellish time hosting the Watcher Council the past few days. I'm pleased to say they've finally left for England. It wasn't my intention in bringing them along when I visited them, but they seemed adamant in revealing the information they had found on Glory in person. Naturally, that was not all they were here for. This information they managed to scrounge up due to the information I gave to them about the key and Glory herself. While I was in England, I was able to jot down a few key points that centered around the key. I shall submit here a summary of what we know. The key is not directly described in any known literature, but all research indicates an energy matrix vibrating at a dimensional frequency beyond normal human perception. Only those outside reality can see the key's true nature. The key is also susceptible to necromanced animal detection, particularly those of canine or serpent construct. The monks possessed the ability to transform energy, bend reality. They started work, but the Council has suggested to us that they were interrupted, presumably by Glory. They obviously did manage to accomplish the task. They had to be certain the Slayer would protect it with her life, so they sent the key to her in human form. In the form of a sister.

Based on this information, the Council allocated their resources into discovering more, and then arrived in my shop rather . . . unpleasantly. In true English fashion, I was prepared to put aside all grudges and ill-feelings towards them and play the part of an impeccable host. Indeed, I was actually rather eager to show them how well I've been doing since they sacked me. Well, they turned that idea right on its head and started confiscating some of my products. Apparently, some of them were deemed too "dangerous" to be sold to the general public. As if I wasn't well aware of the consequences! Yes, I didn't entirely know that _that s_ tatue could make someone's eyeballs melt, but other than a few rare powerful witches, who really has the sort of power to do that, anyway? The way Travers was bloody sitting, all smug and knowing, made me want to sock him in the face. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Travers was present when I returned to the Academy after ending my Ripper lifestyle. He knew of the dark magicks I had played with, and of the less-than-careful choices I had made. He was rubbing my past mistakes in my face. As if Ripper had returned and wanted a bit of chaos in selling dangerous relics to unknowing victims. He's never quite forgotten or forgave my initial departure from the Academy. Any chance he finds to rub my nose in my past, he seizes upon like a dog with a new bone. Considering how much I wanted to shove my fist into his smug face, perhaps he isn't entirely wrong—Ripper is still present somewhere inside of me.

Particularly when he started going after Buffy. He treated her like a child. Worse, like an object. He even went so far as to blatantly call herself so to her face! Instrument, my arse. The Council has always been this way. They've detached themselves from the Slayers. Perhaps it's because of what Travers so indelicately put it, "The Council remains, and the Slayer changes." Some don't even last a month. Buffy's five year reign as the Slayer is pushing to set a record. They've never had to deal with an uncooperative Slayer either. Perhaps that's why they came down so hard on her. They needed her to feel belittled and insignificant. Only then could they make her believe that she needed to dance for them like a trained monkey in order to receive the information they had.

It didn't help that they threatened her, either. It was this course of action that truly peeved me off. They threatened my ability to remain in America. My ability to stay with Buffy. It's something they can easily do, too. It isn't an empty threat. During my time with the Council, I watched them end reigns and place new leaders in powerful countries that were allied to them. In truth, the Council is a World Shadow Government. They have their men everywhere, in every political office, in every government around the world. It's primarily why the canvassing for Watchers is so selective. If the Council were ever to extend their influence over something that did not involve their cause—ending demons—they could severely change the world, perhaps not necessarily for the better. If a Watcher who was placed in a seat of power in a government office—and I'm not saying they were a Prime Minister or President or anything of that nature, something far more secluded, a whisper behind the throne, for example—suddenly become corrupted by his power, and began to take measures to benefit himself or his own agenda, there are procedures the Council takes to remove that Watcher and place someone else in his stead.

Essentially, they have power. A great deal of power. Because they're bloody good at what they do. This threat of deportation pushed Buffy into doing what they asked. She touchingly remarked that they were smart in choosing to target me . . . because she can't lose me. What Buffy did not realize is that I really can't lose her either. She's always been central to my life. Frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. She expressed her adamant concern about not being able to pass the review, and so losing out on the information against Glory. This would then allow Glory to win, and she'd fail to protect Dawn. Buffy's loyalty to those she considers her family is striking. Yet it is her weakness, as well, as it allowed the Council to maneuver her exactly where they wanted her.

They interviewed our little gang—Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya. Apparently, they also interviewed Spike, who not surprisingly, did not speak favorably of Buffy. Though the woman who interviewed him oddly enough gave Buffy high marks on her agility and strength. Buffy, herself, was required to display her own abilities of strength, endurance, agility and clarity. The test was easy enough. Buffy was blind-folded, and she was required to protect a dummy from being attacked. The issue came when Travers instructed her in Japanese. This was a failing on my part, as I did not teach Buffy Japanese, particularly the fighting moves and stances. So, as Travers shouted out orders, I had to quickly remember the language myself and attempted to shout out what to do in English. It did not go well. The dummy was pierced through the neck, and Buffy broke the ribs of the attacker. To be fair, I never taught Buffy Japanese, simply because I did not think it was necessary. She has difficulty with the English language alone at times, so the thought of teaching her another seemed extremely counterproductive.

Thankfully, Buffy turned the Council on their fat heads last night. She was supposed to be tested for her knowledge and stratagem, her decision-making, something that she believed she would do poorly on. She showed up late, much to my chagrin, but when she did, she carried a sword. Later on, she explained that she was late because she had been intercepted by a group of men in armor with swords. They called themselves the Knights of Byzantium and were intent on destroying her so long as she protected the key. It seems that they are enemies with Glory, but they wish to destroy the key, and since killing Dawn is rather out of the picture, we have another group of enemies to add to our ever-increasing list.

Buffy informed the Council in a rather spectacular manner that she was aware that she had the power. That the Council needed her, and not the other way around. Really, she was bloody brilliant standing up to these snobbish bullies. I wish I could write word-for-word what she said, because I never want to forget it, but essentially, she told them that the Council had come to Sunnydale to beg her to let them back in in order to give their lives and jobs some semblance of meaning. That they can't do anything with the information they have. Which is quite true. Not even a thousand Watchers could replace a Slayer, especially against Glory. Then the best bit was when she told them that they'd give her their information, leave, keep the shop open, and _reinstate me as her Watcher at fully salary with retroactive pay since the month they fired me._ Really, it took everything in me not to let out an enthusiastic, HUZZAH!

So, I am officially Buffy's Watcher once more. The only casualty in this entire annoying affair was my glasses. I broke them in a rather frustrated moment. It's a good thing I have extras. Oh, and my bottle of scotch. Quentin desired a glass after being so handedly defeated. He agreed to Buffy's terms—because, really, he had no choice—and rather ruined the victorious moment by informing us of one nasty detail regarding Glory.

We're not fighting a demon, after all; we're fighting a _God._

Happy bloody New Year.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	91. Blood Ties

The metaphorical cat is out of the equally metaphorical bag. Dawn has find out she's the key.

By my journal, no less! It also makes me want to give up the practice. The poor girl has been so traumatized by the discovery, that she harmed herself at Buffy's birthday party. I installed a secret storage compartment exactly to keep my journal out of the hands of those who shouldn't read it, but she managed to find a way to read it all the same. I should say that she "managed" by enlisting Spike into her adventures. I am certain no one is surprised that the tosser chose to help Dawn break into my shop rather than turn her back home.

As such, I've decided to keep my journal on my person at all times. Instead of leaving it at the shop, it shall go home with me. I just never thought this would happen. I'm a little concerned of what else she might have read. She's already gutted by learning about her origins, I'd hate for her to discover the brief romantic history her mother and I shared. There are some details that scar deeply. My journal has already done enough damage to the poor girl.

She damaged herself as well, upon finding out. It was Buffy's birthday, and we were all gathered to celebrate it. I'm pleased to say that she was satisfied with the amount of presents she received. Willow and Tara bought her a new dress, which was a tad too modern for my tastes, but I'm sure she'll look lovely in it. Dawn gave her a present she had made herself. Buffy was touched the most by that gift. For myself, I gave Buffy a copy of Sun Tzu's _The Art of War._ It contains strategies and philosophies which I hope might be of interest to her. Though, the fact that it's reading material, I am prepared for my gift to become a paperweight instead. To counter that, I ingratiated myself to her by purchasing her a new pair of combat boots. Stylish, but effective. There's even a nice little slit on the side where she place a stake or holy water. I should credit Willow with discovering Buffy's shoe size for me.

The party was all cake and—in my case—wine when it was abruptly interrupted by Dawn. This occurred twice, I should add. The first was just a domestic disturbance. Dawn grew irritated that everyone was talking about her and acting strange about her. Whether or not this was the case, I am unsure. However, I should add that Buffy was forced—more or less—to reveal that Dawn was the key to the group. They were offended that they had not been told before, despite rational reason not to. Since then, understandably, they've had a rough time in adjusting to this new knowledge. Dawn, obviously, sensed it and became so frustrated that she stormed off to her room.

It was during this period where we happily filled ourselves with cake—and wine—that Dawn snuck off into the night to break into my shop and found out the truth about herself. She returned home and gave a rather terrifying and dramatic performance by cutting herself with a butcher knife, no less. It's a wonder she didn't end up lobbing off her entire arm. Joyce and Buffy were quite startled, everyone was, and the party, as one might expect, ended. I offered to remain to perhaps help talk to Dawn and make her understand why her origins was kept a secret, but Buffy thought it best I leave it to her and her mother. Perhaps she's right. I hardly know what to say to an upset fourteen year old girl. I barely knew how to converse with a sixteen year old Buffy.

Despite what I'm sure was their sincere attempts in making Dawn understand, Joyce and Buffy were unable to reach her. Choosing to act out instead, Dawn nearly burned down her room—and thus the entire house—and then went missing. We split off and began our search for her. For whatever reason, Buffy in her infinite wisdom decided to partner me with Xander, who prattled on endlessly about how "cool" he was because Dawn fancied him. Suffice it to say, I was disgusted. Despite Dawn obviously going through a very personal hellish experience, Xander chose to view the situation in a manner which inflated his ego. The boy never ceases to be insensitive. Or immature.

I managed to survive his company, however, and when we met back up at the graveyard Dawn-less, we headed to the hospital next. It was a lucky guess, but it was the right one. We found Dawn there . . . with Glory. All of us jumped her—Willow, Tara, Xander, Buffy, myself, even Spike. A few blows were landed. I attempted to injure her with a crossbow, but the bolt bounced right off of her. Xander had a tad more success in hitting her with a crowbar, but then she threw him . . . into me. My injuries were small in this battle, and considering it was against Glory, I'm quite surprised. However, Xander and I did crash into a screen where X-Rays are displayed. I might have . . . broken it. Either way, there was quite a few jolts of electricity that zapped me rather well. That and shattered glass. Needless to say, I was out for a bit.

Willow and Tara were the saving force this time around. They conducted an extremely powerful and dangerous teleportation spell on Glory. We're still not, as of yet, certain where she was sent. I'm rather hoping for Pluto. Either way, she vanished, and we were able to get Dawn home safely. Buffy had some talk to her about blood, and I think—I hope—it opened Dawn's eyes. I think I speak for everyone in saying that it does not matter how she was created, the memories we have with her—real or not—are real to us. We care for her and wish to protect her not because she's an energy that is thousands and thousands of years old, but because she's a person. She's Dawn. And we love her.

Now, in regards to Glory, this is the first time that I've been able to see her in action . . . and I am now genuinely concerned for Buffy. The Council, based on the information they discovered in the Book of Tarnis, that Glory and her two fellow Hell-gods ruled over one of the more seriously unpleasant hell dimensions. Particularly for humans who somehow find themselves caught there. Now, what her purpose is here and with the key, we have yet to determine. However, it is clear that being in human form has severely limited Glory's powers. A hell-god would be able to kill or maim with a mere snap of her fingers or a glance, even. She possesses incredible strength and durability, but thus far hasn't displayed any god-like powers, for which I am grateful. We'd need about fifty Slayers if that were the case, and that's never going to happen, so I'll take my good news where I can get it. There is also another side-effect that Glory seems to be experiencing. Though insane by nature, it seems that by being in this world, it is only further agitating her mental state. To counteract this, she has to take energy from the mind which keeps the brain a cohesive whole. Once that energy is drained, it renders the victim . . . well . . . unstable. Insane. The sudden increase of mentally disturbed individuals in Sunnydale supports this evidence.

I'm worried. For Sunnydale. For the world. For Buffy. I've always worried for her before, but this is different. The answer always became clear over time, but this is a foe far out of our league. A hell-god. It isn't that I don't believe Buffy will triumph. The girl is remarkable for making miracles happen. I'm just worried what it will cost her. This sort of battle always has collateral damage. The most likely target is Dawn. I'm not sure what losing her will do to Buffy, or to Joyce. Thus far, she's been spared that heartbreak. Our efforts must double in researching Glory, so we can avoid that chance. Dawn made mention of something that Glory told her, or rather, that she made her realize. A key is used to unlock something. Usually either a door or a chest. Which begs the question . . .

What is on the other side of that door? Or what is in the chest?

-Rupert Giles

2001


	92. Crush

I've heard the oddest rumor.

As if our lives weren't already difficult, what with Glory, Xander informed me that Buffy told him that she heard from Dawn that Spike is in love with her. In love with Buffy, that is. I also realize that regurgitating this nonsensical story is akin to posting an entry in a tabloid magazine. As such, let me simply write that that will _never_ happen. I had my reservations about Angel. Spike is the worst part of Angel. At least Buffy realizes that. Disgusting prat. Still, these vampires are twisted individuals. Buffy could be in trouble if Spike's feelings are rejected. How many serial killers arise due to spurned affection and sexual frustration? Not that Spike can harm any humans. Still, he is a ticking time bomb.

And he had best stay away from Buffy.

In other news, Buffy and I have decided to keep watch over Dawn. Not just because of Glory, but because we need to make sure she maintains some form of stability. She's been handling her situation far better the past few days. At the very least, there hasn't been another suicide attempt. Buffy was at the Bronze the other day with her friends, and I stayed over at the Summers residence with Joyce and Dawn to ensure both of their safety. Dawn seemed as happy and stable as she was before she discovered the truth of herself. I think she's going to be just fine. Especially with Buffy giving her a taste of normalcy such as a fight over stolen clothes.

Spike though.

In short, that is never going to happen.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	93. I Was Made to Love You

Sunnydale has had its very first robot!

She made her appearance at a party that, apparently, all the "cool" kids were invited to last night. Since Buffy's mother had a date, jolly good for her I must say, I was pulled in for Dawn duty. This is also called babysitting.

It was horrible. It seems I took advantage of Joyce being there the last time, for there was a buffer. Without that buffer, I was faced with unadulterated fourteen year old girl problems. The first transgression was Dawn pulling me to the stereo and insisting that I, and I quote, "get hip to the new music." This music, I should add, contained a song titled, "Bootylicious" by a group called Destiny's Child. Well, whomever Destiny mated with to produce such a child, I wish they were sterile. I mourn for this generation's musical taste. Where's the content? The sustenance? It's all noise and high energy! As if meaning was the cost of energy! The most terrible part was that I found myself humming the chorus, even though I'd only heard it the once! Surely, this must be a new circle of Hell. Doomed to have today's "Pop" music playing in one's head over and over.

When she became hungry, Dawn insisted that we eat cookie dough. Having a hankering for sweets, I agreed, hoping that by stuffing our faces, we might turn our attention to something more agreeable. A documentary, perhaps. I was incorrect. For whatever reason, the sugar laden meal prompted Dawn to open her heart and release a flood about the frustrations of boys and dating. I learned that Joey was the "hottest" boy at school, but he never noticed Dawn. That "Lance" was probably gay, but that was okay, because she liked "Justin" more. And that "Sam" was a manwhore and only interested in cheerleaders. I was horrified. Despite my vigorous attempt, clogging enough cookie dough down my throat did not choke the life out of me.

At long last, Buffy came to my rescue. She informed me that there as a robot who showed up at the party. A robot girl, I should add. They believed she was a robot because of her incredible strength. Apparently, she threw Spike through a window. Good on her, I say. I would have liked to hear more about it, but Joyce arrived at that point clearly eager to talk about . . . boys. So, as politely as I could, I fled. There's really only so much patience I have before I succumb to a nervous breakdown.

Earlier this morning, I finally got to learn about the robot girl. She had been searching for someone named Warren throughout the day. It's clear that this Warren was the chap who created her. I was concerned that he may have more evil of intentions. This is the Hellmouth, after all, and I'm certainly not one to underestimate the strength of a female force. I was imagining an army of robot women keen on destroying the town . . . but the others pegged her down as a . . . well . . . a . . . sexbot. Simply put. How unimaginative. A waste of robotics engineering, really.

Warren Meers, Willow discovered, had gone to school with them for a semester in high school, but then transferred to a tech college in Dutton. Clearly, he had the brains to make something brilliant. A pity that he had the maturity of a twelve year old boy. Buffy has since run off to confront Warren and find a way to shut down his creation before she accidentally hurts other people.

I just finished threatening Spike, and allow me to say . . . it felt bloody good. Buffy has been quite agitated over the vampire's obsession with her. I say obsession, because I'm quite sure it's all that Spike c _an_ feel. He doesn't have a soul. What he feels is infatuation at best. I won't have that harming Buffy. It's, frankly, disturbing. Spike is already a distasteful fellow, and the thought of him sniffing around Buffy is enough to make me want to shove his head into a bowl of holy water. He's lucky I didn't do just that when he barged into my shop. Clearly, he thought that by buddying up with us, we could just turn a blind eye and allow him to remain whenever Buffy shows up.

He's wrong. As I told him, we're not his friends. We're barely even his allies. I told him to get over this thing with Buffy and move on. At the very least, he knows he's no longer welcome in my shop. I might have accidentally spooked the gang with my display as well. It's not often that I get a little . . . Ripper-y . . . They probably wouldn't have liked me very much had they known me then. Spike would have liked me a great deal. That's troubling.

Ah, Buffy just called. The robot has been shut down. Sunnydale: 1, Robots: 0. The hostile takeover will not begin here! She's on her way home now, something about movie night with her mother. Just so long as I never have to babysit Dawn alone again.

Joyce _has_ to be there.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	94. The Body

Joyce Summers, mother of the Slayer, has died today.

This entry shall be short, as I'm in the middle of a rather hefty sack of legal paperwork pertaining to her death. It's a wonder the sort of filing and legal tape one has to go through to simply declare someone dead. Better that it's me than Buffy. There are a few papers she has to sign, but I'm taking care of the redundant ones.

God, Buffy.

She called me at the shop. Told me that I had to come and that "she" was at the house. Naturally, I was alarmed, thinking that it was Glory. I sped—yes, quite sped—over to her home and found her in a near catatonic state. She mumbled something about coroners and needing to tell Dawn at school, and that's when I saw her. Joyce. She was laid out on the carpet as still as the furniture. It was . . . haunting . . . seeing her like that. Her eyes were open and staring. Buffy yelled at me informing me the paramedics told her no one was supposed to touch the body.

She cried after that. I held her as hard as I could. She wasn't a Slayer then. She was a poor girl who had just lost her mother. Buffy was as pale as her mother. I've never seen her so unfocused and disengaged. She was too young for this to happen to her. Both her and Dawn. Especially Dawn. Buffy left to collect Dawn and inform her shortly after the coroners came and collected Joyce's body. I rode with the coroners to the morgue, hoping I might be able to glean any information that I could tell to Buffy when she arrived.

Such was not the case. Joyce's body was taken to the morgue where they performed an autopsy to determine her cause of death. Xander, Willow, Anya and Tara arrived to join Buffy, Dawn and myself at the hospital. They didn't have to come, but it was awfully kind of them to do so. Xander and Willow were specially drawn with bloodshot eyes. We all knew Joyce for about the same time. I knew her intimately. Though the spark of romance never quite made it, I considered her a dear friend. One of the few adult friends I could boast in Sunnydale. Naturally, being the mother of the Slayer, I always felt some reverence towards her. None were worthy of her. Especially not myself.

The Doctor eventually informed us that the cause of death was an aneurysm brought on, very likely, from complications from the surgery for her tumor removal. A great deal of the paperwork I'm sifting through is to ensure that the hospital had no blame in Joyce's death. The necessary measures to thwart off later possible lawsuits. There is some comfort in knowing that Joyce felt little to no pain. The Doctor expressed that she might have felt a little nausea, and then likely passed out, slipping away while she was unconscious. Her death came far too early, but at least it was painless and bloodless.

It will take Buffy some time to heal from this loss. For us all, really. Only now that she's no longer here, do we understand how prominent she was in all of our lives. So many late-night gatherings at the Summers residence, and Joyce would greet us all—resigned or not—with food and refreshments. Despite a few slip-ups, she became one of the strongest supporters of her daughter, despite the nightly terror she likely felt whenever Buffy left to perform her duty. Joyce had no great strength or power or intelligence to contribute in the fight. Though I know she likely would have done anything to ensure Buffy's safety. Her silent suffering at being unable to contribute, and yet enduring, stands as testament to her remarkable character.

I know I shall miss her. The house will never feel the same. The group will never feel entirely complete.

We're all motherless now.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	95. Forever

Another day of mourning.

With Joyce's passing, the research and pursuit of Glory has been put on a halt. We're lucky that she hasn't made a move. If only she knew how weak we currently are, she'd strike and rid the only opposing force to her designs in one fell blow. I'm anxious to turn Buffy back to the looming threat, for it hasn't gone away in any regard. Perhaps now that the funeral for Joyce has been had, we might be able to return to our training. I just hope when I prod her in that direction, she doesn't think me callous. It is only necessity which drives me to turn us back to Glory. I can't allow my Slayer to grow apathetic about the world because of the passing of her mother.

Dawn, Buffy and I took care of the funeral arrangements. The coffin was chosen, and the arrangements made. Joyce had more friends than either I or Buffy knew. We received countless calls inquiring as to when the funeral was taking place and where. Buffy was adamant that there wasn't a wake, since Joyce herself found them to be depressing. I think just a standard funeral was the wisest course of action for Buffy and Dawn. With the burial can come closure, I hope, at least.

There was a member who did not send a note or even leave a message. Buffy and Dawn's father. I understand that Joyce was an ex, and he's living his new life likely going woman-to-woman in Spain, but he still has a duty to his daughters. My father may not have been the most tender of men, but he was there when I needed him . . . even when I didn't want him. Their father is a sham. A poor excuse of a man. No honor, no sense of loyalty. As far as I'm concerned, he gave up any fatherly right to his children when he decided to abandon them in their time of mourning.

The funeral was as pleasant as such an event can be. I met quite a few of Joyce's friends there. The man she had been dating had been gracious enough to show. He even wept a few tears. When I left, both Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Tara remained. Dawn planned on staying with Willow and Tara, and I picked her up earlier this afternoon and allowed her to help at the Magic Box. She made it clear that she needed something to do. Though Anya was a little anxious about my delegating some of her duties to Dawn, she had wisdom enough to let the subject drop.

Buffy has her Slaying to distract her, and her friends. Dawn has friends as well, but no actual work or hobby to distract her mind. I was happy to teach her how to run the register. She even got a young man to buy a few extra baubles. The Summers' genes certainly come in handy now and then. After work, I returned her home. Buffy wasn't there, but Dawn insisted she'd be fine, that she had some homework that she needed to focus on. At least her schoolwork might give her something else to focus on, and I'm sure Buffy returned home shortly after I left.

To honor Joyce in my own way, I decided to play a song that I shall forever regard as Joyce's Song. "Tales of Brave Ulysses" by Cream. We played it together back when we had some foolish candy that made us make some foolish decisions. Even so, Joyce expressed frequently—perhaps drunkenly—that she loved the song. Now, should I ever hear the song in the future, it will remind me to take a moment and remember not just Joyce, but all who we have lost. Kendra, Oz in a way, Jenny . . . We'll remember them all.

Forever.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	96. Intervention

Spike made a sexbot.

We've been politely referring to it as the Buffybot, but her creation was made for one primary reason. Though I admire the workmanship that went into its build, the personality programming does leave much to be desired. It's clearly all of Spike's design as well, for it couldn't even say my name properly. "Guy-les?" Really? I'm British, not American. Yet it did come with combat maneuvers programmed as well.

Spike was taken captive by Glory and her minions, mistaken for the Key. In our concern over him giving Glory the correct information of the identity of the Key, we staged a rescue mission. Some of Glory's minions intercepted us, and we had a bit of a fight to extract Spike. During this fight, I fell into a spot of trouble when a minion managed to get me on my back and started suffocating me with my own weapon. It was a poor blunder on my part, and I'm rather embarrassed by it. However, the Buffybot responded to my call for aid and managed to free me from the minion's clutches . . . before being knocked back short-circuiting . . . or whatever it is that robots do when they've been knocked out.

The minion shortly fled after they realized that the Slayer—the real Buffy—was present and was keen on throwing a few hard punches. Xander and I took Spike back to his crypt and questioned him. If Glory knows that Dawn is the Key, then she is in extreme danger. Buffy mentioned possibly leaving town if that's the case. I honestly don't blame her. There's only so many places one can hide in Sunnydale, and it isn't as though we have any clue as to how to defeat Glory. We need more time. Willow was examining the Buffbot's hardware and mentioned being able to fix her. I almost wonder if she should. The Buffybot could be used as a decoy or dummy to distract Glory, should we ever feel the need to go covert.

Buffy has since left to interrogate Spike herself, since neither Xander nor I could get anything short of grumbles from him. Glory knows the art of interrogation and torture well. His body is evidence enough of that. I'm quite certain that if Spike had been human, such damage would have killed him. I hope she can wrench out the truth from him. If we're going on the run, I'll need to find someone to mind the shop whilst I'm away. I don't want to lose money simply because a hellgod is on my heels.

To think, all of this happened because Buffy and I left town for a day. A single day. She has expressed a growing concern over the effect being a Slayer is having on her humanity. Indeed, when I was over at the Summers' residence the other night, helping them cook and clean—and in which Buffy nearly persuaded me into cleaning out her garage—she pulled me aside and expressed these concerns over not being able to love. She mentioned Riley, and how she had shut down on him, and was concerned that her mother did not know how much Buffy loved her before she had passed. Naturally, I reassured the best I could. Then she proclaimed that she loved me—a lot—to the point of awkwardness. She did the same with Dawn later, who vocally expressed her own discomfort of the audible-smothering-of-love.

Yet, I think her concern is justified. Soldiers always have to temporarily suspend their humanity to perform their duties. It would traumatize and cost them too much of their soul otherwise. Buffy, for all intents and purposes, dons the soldier's garb when she marches out into the graveyard every night. Sometimes it isn't as simple as killing vampires either. Sometimes she has to make tough decisions. Killing Angel, in particular, comes to mind. Those sorts of decisions changes a person. Since I am biased and ill-equipped to answer the questions she had, I suggested an ancient ritual.

I only suggested it because I had recently read about it the other night when looking for more information on Glory. It's mentioned throughout the Watcher diaries. Sometimes, when a Slayer felt that they were losing their edge, they would travel to a sacred location. The location itself mattered not, for in a metaphysical sense, they'd be taken to the same place by a guide. The Slayers could ask this guide what they wished, and by the reports that I read, the Slayer returned with more wisdom and renewed strength. Of course, that could also bias. We Watchers do tend to exaggerate when boasting the successes of our Slayers.

After some persuasion from Dawn, Buffy agreed, and I took her out into the desert. The sacred place we needed to go is a mystery to me, but I know the requirements of the ritual. We needed to be somewhere isolated from life. The desert, thus, was the perfect setting. Once I found a suitable area, I made the ritualistic circle out of blessed sticks and performed the ritual. For any future Watcher who wishes to conduct the ritual, the steps are quite simple. One jumps out of the circle, and then back into the circle, and then shakes a blessed gourd that has been hollowed out. A word of note—one will feel extremely silly when performing the ritual, but I assure you, it works. Do not give up, even if your Slayer likens it the Hokey-Pokey.

Once the initial ritual began, I sat down within the circle and read the summoning of the guide, which would lead Buffy to the sacred place. The words were in Swahili, and though I haven't spoken the language in some time, I'm pleased to say that I pronounced them perfectly. Buffy reported to me later that a mountain lion appeared to her, and she followed it through the desert until it disappeared. Whilst I waited for Buffy to return, I drank some tea and listened to the Chelsea—Manchester United match. It was disappointing, to say the least.

Thankfully, Buffy had more luck. She returned a tad disconnected, but she informed me of what she had seen. The First Slayer had appeared to her. I remember her well, considering she metaphorically—and nearly physically—sliced the top of my head off. Buffy told the First Slayer about her concern in losing her humanity. The First Slayer answered that Buffy is full of love and will only lose it if she rejects it. That love is pain, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. I'd argue, but I actually agree with that statement. Buffy fights at her best when she has been hurt, or someone she cares for deeply has been hurt. The curious bit was when the First Slayer said that love will lead her to her gift . . . and that her gift was Death.

In true cryptic guide fashion, she disappeared after that. Buffy seemed . . . perturbed . . . by this idea of her gift being death. I can understand, but is it not the case? She removes evil forces that would otherwise harm innocent people. Perhaps calling it a gift is too soft, however. Some of the things Buffy has slain in the past deserved something crueler than death. Perhaps there is another meaning for her gift. Though, at the moment, I'm as blind as Buffy as to what it could be.

I'm sure time will reveal to us the truth of the First Slayer's prophecy.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	97. Tough Love

Tara has been lost to us.

In mistaking her for the Key, Glory has taken her sanity from her. In feeding off of her, we are left with a Tara akin to those other poor souls who have been drained by the God. She babbles nonsense and sometimes becomes violent when she is frightened. It's . . . heartbreaking, honestly. Not just because seeing someone so bright now reduced to a mumbling mess, but because of Willow's absolute despair. It's difficult to see Willow anything less than happy, and this has been an absolute blow to her. Particularly since she and Tara had quarreled just before Glory's attack.

To explain, I'll recount the earlier events. Buffy decided that with her newfound responsibilities, she was, currently, unable to attend her classes at University any longer. Though I encourage as much education as one can have, I understand her needs. Especially since she intimated to me that Dawn has been skipping classes. When she met with the Principal to discuss Dawn, she was warned that if Buffy cannot make Dawn attend school and perform well in school, that services will be called, and Buffy will be stripped of her legal guardian status.

As one might imagine, Buffy is feeling the pressure of her new responsibilities and hoped to slide them off to my shoulders. Yet, as I told her, I can't be the one who brings Dawn into line. I'm not her father. Nor am I her real family. That can only come from Buffy. Dawn may respect me, but she knows that I'm not her father. When I'm not there to play that role, Dawn will find reason to rebel. More than that, I can't call upon shared blood to force my authority on her. My authority only exists so far in her belief of it. Buffy, on the other hand, _is_ her blood. She _has_ authority. As such, it is up to her to take on this new responsibility. It's a sad occurrence that it must happen at all, but it has to be Buffy.

Granted, Buffy's parenting method might be a little . . . more Four-Star General and less Mother Theresa. At least, based on how she came out of the gate. Dawn was learning her math in an unorthodox manner with Anya, Xander and Willow, and Buffy scolded her. _I_ wouldn't have scolded Dawn, but I'm also not a parent. At least, not technically, and even if I could claim Buffy as my child, the fact that she never listens to me rather negates my opinion. Buffy left with Dawn, and it was business as usual.

Until Willow came in. She didn't seem all too keen on talking when she arrived, and so I left her alone . . . until she venture from her little cubbie hole and told me what was the matter. She and Tara had their first fight. I'm not entirely sure what it was over, but Willow was quite morose. The young always seem to think it is the end of the world when they fight with their partners. They forget that they're humans, and it's impossible for humans to always get along forever. We're creatures of differentiating opinions and needs. Those come into conflict sometimes. What makes or breaks a relationship is the ability to communicate between two partners. Of course, take this with a grain of salt. My significant relationship ended with a premature death before we could have our first real fight.

Willow's true test of love occurred after the fight, however. A minion was breathing rather hard outside of the back door to the shop, and so I simply opened the door and knocked him in the head with it. I daresay he wasn't expecting to be caught. Though he initially refused to explain his motives, a few broken fingers quickly changed his tune. Suffice it to say, I haven't lost my touch as an interrogator. The minion explained that they were all watching the Slayer's people to ensure that no one disturbed Glory, who was finally taking the Key. He mentioned the witch, and we all knew immediately that Glory had been mistaken, and that Tara was in danger.

Whilst Willow ran off to the fair, I informed Buffy of the situation. Then I hurried to the dormitories that Tara shared with Willow. Once I arrived and found the dorm empty, Willow called and told me that she had found Tara, and that Glory had gotten to her first. I picked up Anya and Xander, and we joined Willow at the hospital where the Doctors tested and treated Tara as much as they could. She's . . . lost. It's really the best way I can describe it. I have no idea how she might be cured. If the removal of Glory will cure it and send everything back to its proper place, or if Tara will forever remain lost.

Later on, I discovered that Willow had stolen one of the most dangerous and potent books my shop offers. _Darkest Magicks._ With it, she charged in on Glory and gave her some small beat-down, but according to Buffy, she was about to get into trouble when Buffy arrived and helped subdue Glory long enough for them to escape. I understand Willow's rage. I gave in to it myself when I went after Angel after Jenny died. It's difficult not to subdue the call for vengeance when one so dear has been unfairly taken from us.

The girls are currently off on a lunch date. Except for Anya. Though I rather wish they had decided to invite her. Or, perhaps they had, but her current obsession with Capitalism compelled her to remain at work. Regardless, she chose to remain at work with me.

Which means I get to hear all about the American way . . . Huzzah.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	98. Spiral

It has become abundantly clear that the Scoobies should never share a home together.

In fact, a word of advice. Should one feel the compelled necessity to live with one's friends—or loved one—simply take a trip in a RV first. If one's friendship—or relationship—survives until the end, then one has found a suitable roommate.

I would never be able to live with any of these people. Dawn insists on prattling away about nonsense. Tara is mumbling and being a general pain the arse—though it is not entirely her fault—and Willow is doing a woeful job of keeping her charge entertained. Anya has made mention of every RV and road trip stereotype and attempted to enact them. Xander looks as though he might throw up in my lap at any second. And Spike is . . . being Spike.

Yes, even Spike is here. As if this road trip could get any worse.

To backtrack, shortly after Tara was released from hospital, Buffy and Dawn went over to Willow's dormitory to have a pleasant lunch with the two girls. Those plans were abruptly halted when Glory herself tracked them down and ripped the side off of the dorm room. It would have just been another skirmish . . . had Tara not accidentally let it slip that Dawn was made up of "pure green energy." It was all Glory needed to hear to know that Dawn was the Key. So, the cat has been let out of the metaphorical bag.

Buffy grabbed Dawn and ran. Willow slowed Glory down with a bit of magic, but in the end, Buffy had gotten lucky in that a truck hit Glory, momentarily stopping her pursuit. I received a rather breathless demand to meet up at Xander's apartment, and it was there that Dawn brought all of us up to speed. Since we no longer had the small upper hand over Glory—and I mean to say, so small, as in miniscule—Buffy deemed that the wisest course of action . . . was to leave town. Since our research hadn't scrounged up anything useful, I attempted to keep everyone calm about the idea of frolicking through the desert highways in search of sanctuary.

Packing was a nightmare. Besides clothes and the necessary toiletries, deciding which books were the most necessary to our cause was . . . nothing short of painful. I don't like the idea of leaving them behind, particularly those in the shop, where mischief-minded individuals might capitalize on an absent owner and steal them. Those books are dear to me and to leave them behind caused me a great deal of mental suffering.

Of course, this hardly compares to the suffering I've endured since Buffy pulled up in a RV. I should mention that it isn't even a nice, updated RV. No, this thing clearly was born in either the late seventies or early eighties. It certainly smells that way, at any rate. Spike, a stench all himself, was driving. Neither Xander nor I were particularly happy to see him about, but Buffy brought up the point that they needed him in a fight. Since we're rather desperate, I begrudgingly accept her argument.

He's been driving since we set off, though rather recklessly. The windows are all plastered with aluminum foil to keep the sunlight from shining on him. Never mind what might happen if we get pulled over by the police. I highly doubt this lung-cancer-causing coffin is street legal. It's especially illegal with the way Spike keeps driving. Does the man not know how to drive in a straight line!? It's making it practically impossible to write in my journal!

Xander is going to be ill on me. I just know it. I recall a time when he declared he was going to travel the country by road instead of going to College. How was he going to manage that if he becomes so severely carsick traveling down a mere highway? Did he only make it so far, not just because his car broke down, but because he couldn't keep the contents of his stomach in place? Actually, this is a line of thought I do not wish to follow.

Buffy is the only sensible one. She's locked herself in the bedroom in the back, oblivious to the rising tensions within this tiny compartment. I do fear for her, however. It isn't like her to suggest running, but . . . these are extraordinary times. I don't fault her for being frightened. Especially now, when she's so vulnerable after the loss of her mother. I have to think of something. She can't do this alone. Perhaps if I have another look at—oh god, Xander nearly gagged on me. I'm switching with Spike, I refuse to be Xander's toilet bowl. I'll finish my thoughts at another time.

Provided I don't kill us all by falling asleep at the wheel out of sheer monotonous boredom, of course.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	99. The Weight of the World

Well, I've nearly died again.

I really need to finish writing that will. This last incident has been, perhaps, the closest I've come to dying. I have to retrace the past few days' events, since it appears the last time I wrote I was still bouncing around in the RV.

Well, after taking the wheel, we were soon beset by the Knights of Byzantium. Despite that we're living in the modern age, these Knights decided to attack us on horseback with arrows, spears and swords. One might think this laughable. That against a RV, the Knights stood no chance. Well, let me remind you, dear reader, that this RV was most assuredly constructed in the 1970s, and thus its insulation was . . . much to be desired. The arrows ran right through the walls, swords through the roof and spear through the windshield.

Indeed, though Buffy valiantly attempted to fight them off atop the RV, one lucky rider maneuvered himself in front of the automobile and plunged his spear right through the windshield and into my side. The pain was extraordinary, I assure you. In my agony, I lost control of the wheel, and we rolled. I'm pleased to say no one else was seriously hurt, but I was in dire straits. Much of this next part, I rely on information from the others, as I was in and out of consciousness frequently.

Not far from our crash site, we came across an abandoned gas station. Taking shelter inside, I was placed on the counter where I attempted not to bleed to death. Willow was using what healing magic she knew, but it was obvious that I needed actual medical attention. During this time, the Knights had regrouped in full force and were laying siege to the gas station. Really, I wish I had been uninjured, for I know siege warfare and could have commanded us to victory. Medieval warfare, after all, was a particular favorite subject of mine.

Alas, I was instead laying on my back continuously falling asleep. During the fight, Willow put a temporary halt to their assault by placing an energy barrier around the station. It kept them from penetrating. However, before the barrier had been placed, their General had snuck inside. He was quickly subdued and interrogated. The information she eventually gleaned from the General was only helpful in that it taught us a tad more about Glory's origins and Dawn's purpose as the Key. To record, Glory served with two other Hell-Gods, but her power became so great that the others worried she'd eventually takeover. They joined together and waged war against Glory, intending to destroy her. They were successful in that they banished her to another plane of existence. Thus, she was trapped inside the body of a mortal man. It was in this form that she was truly weak. If one were to kill the man, the God would also die. Though the General did not know at the time that the human vessel was none other than our resident nurse, Ben, he did say that Glory had found means to escape this vessel from time-to-time. At least until her energy was exhausted, and she returned to the Ben-form.

In regards to the Key, it is as ancient as Glory herself. It was created to open the gates that separate dimensions. Glory's intent was to use the Key to open a portal to her own dimension and return home, where she'd seize control. It would not just be Glory's dimension that was opened, however, but rather all of the dimensions opened at once. They'd bleed into one another, overthrowing order and giving rise to universal chaos. A little more on that later.

Eventually, I became conscious enough to speak. Buffy came to me and had the audacity to apologize. As if she could have planned what had happened! I did my best to assure her that her choice was necessary, and that I admired it, for it was simply the way Buffy makes decisions—by placing her heart above all else. I must confess that I thought I was going to die. My fate looked quite grim in that barren, isolated gas station, so I tried to give Buffy some peace, some last fighting spirit to part with. I told her I was proud of her and how far she'd come. For, it's true. Reflecting back on the five years I've known her, her growth has been exceptional. She has tasted so much of life in those five years. Yet here she is, standing tall atop it all, doing the very best she can for everyone. Biased or not, she is the most exceptional human being I have ever had the honor and pleasure of meeting. Being in her life has been a blessing. I wouldn't give that away for anything.

Right, before I overcome myself with silly paternal tears, I shall return to the action. Buffy called a truce with the Knights and managed to convince them to let her call a medic. This was how Ben came to join us in that lonely gas station. He did his very best—which was actually quite good—in treating my wound and stabilizing me. Again, I was unconscious during this next part, but apparently Ben turned into Glory. Right there. The very person we were running from was suddenly directly in our midst. She killed the General and grabbed Dawn, escaping with her—though not before slaughtering every single Knight outside.

The trauma of losing Dawn, being utterly unable to stop it, made Buffy snap. She was rendered into a catatonic state for the rest of the evening. Thankfully, I was well enough at this point to stand and speak. We were clueless as to how to proceed at first, but Willow snapped us into action. Xander took me to the hospital where I was properly tended to. I should make mention that Glory had some sort of magic spell that kept us from remembering that Ben changed into Glory, and Glory changed into Ben. We only remember it now, because it seems as though her power is waning. The time of her ritual is drawing near. Extremely near. She's running out of time, and so are we.

Whilst I was being bandaged up, Spike checked in at the mental ward to see if perhaps we might ascertain a clue as to where Glory was, so we might stage a rescue attempt. The victims of Glory's mental sponge, however, have all disappeared. According to Spike, Glory is also no longer at her high-rise apartment. He mentioned a nasty sort of demon who might know where to find her—and how to defeat her—and he left with Xander to seek him out. I, meanwhile, made my way to my shop.

After a much-needed kettle of tea—not even a cup, a kettle—I awaited the others to meet up with me. Anya came first with Tara. Then Spike and Xander. It seemed the demon they had visited was actually a follower of Glory. After a bit of a tangle, they managed to obtain a ritual text which outlined exactly how Glory was going to use the Key, and what would happen once the Key was activated. I poured over these scrolls again and again . . . and I am still left with dread.

When Buffy joined us with Willow—who had successfully managed to snap Buffy out of her catatonic state, quite the advanced magic that—I told her about the ritual. There is a way for Glory to be stopped. The ritual itself is a bloodletting. Once the blood is shed at a certain time and place, the fabric which separates all realities will be ripped apart. Dimensions will pour into one another, and not all of those dimensions are filled with unicorns and glowing butterflies. Chaos will reign on earth. These portals to other dimensions will only close once the blood has stopped, and the only way to make it stop . . . is to kill Dawn.

. . . And that's my solution. It troubles me greatly, and I'll likely lose Buffy forever for suggesting it, but it's the only way we can ensure the survival of the planet. This isn't just Sunnydale that is threatened this time. It's the world. It's the future. If we wish to guarantee the safety of the innocent, we have to do our duty and . . . get our hands dirty. I don't wish to ask Buffy to do it, but if the ritual begins, and Dawn's blood has been shed . . . it is the _only_ option left. Dawn has to die.

I'm a Watcher. I have to do my duty.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	100. The Gift

_(The page is blemished with tear-stains, the ink blotted and smeary in places.)_

May 15th 2001. This day marks the passing of one Buffy Anne Summers. My Slayer and friend.

I am not sure where to begin. Ever since _it_ happened, I've found myself unable to focus for long periods of time. I continue to be drawn back to that moment—to that memory. It crops up sometimes when I least expect it to even. I'll be making a sandwich, and it will shove itself into the forefront of my mind—her body lying there amidst the rubble—with no prior provocation or step taken in that direction to remind myself of it. When I'm not seeing it with my waking eyes, it presents itself in my dreams.

Like so many Watchers before me, I did not wish to record the events that have . . . led us here. But now, now that she has been . . . laid to rest . . . I recall her irritation with the lack of knowledge about _how_ the previous Slayers had died. So, to honor her memory, I write now to finish the tale of Buffy Summers—the greatest Slayer who has ever existed.

She came to me at the age of sixteen. I was not her first Watcher, but despite that, she proved to be stubborn and willful. Buffy had had her fill of fighting the forces of darkness. Through great pains, I directed her back to her course. With each rising threat, she handled them better than any way I could have imagined. Eventually, she accepted that her destiny was unescapable. I'm not sure if she ever found complete peace with it, but she kept it from drowning her further.

I watched her make friends. Against my better judgment, she brought along two equally stubborn and willful companions. I saw her fall in love and have her heartbroken. More than once. I've watched her defeat odds entirely out of her favor. Last night proved to be her greatest battle, and though she won that war in the end as well, she is not now here to celebrate the dawning morning with us.

The world will never know her name. Like the Slayers before her, she will be recorded in our histories, and then placed in a dusty vault deep below the earth. When one lives in the shadows, one also dies there. It was not for grandeur or fame that Buffy fought, however. Recognition was something she never sought or needed. To see that her friends and family made it out of the plight unscathed was enough for her. She was a Slayer at its very core—good.

Now, to the events. We beset a plan. The ritual which Glory wished to enact had a time constraint. Our plan was to delay her until that scheduled time had passed. I must admit that I had intended to kill Dawn if we were unable to belay the ritual. I could not ask Buffy to do it. Her hands were never made to shed innocent human life. Buffy was, unsurprisingly and understandably, upset with me. She warned us all that if any of us tried to hurt Dawn, she'd kill us. I knew she meant me. If anything, I suppose, I am glad that we did not find ourselves on opposite sides of the line.

It was Tara, insane though she was, that led us to Glory. She was being drawn there. We found the other victims of Glory's brain synapse syphoning there as well. Willow used a powerful spell to return Tara's sanity to her. It weakened Glory enough to distract her with the Buffy Bot—which she believed to be the real Buffy. Once she destroyed the Bot, the real Buffy challenged her with a Troll Hammer—the weapon of a God. It seemed sufficient to knock Glory about, so the rest of us charged in to try and get to Dawn.

She was standing on a platform at the top of a tower stories-high into the air. Glory's minions stood between us and the stairs to the tower. I used a sword, myself, in this battle. I've never been particularly good with hand-to-hand melee, so I utilized my fencing abilities instead. Though we fought passionately and desperately, there were too many of them, and we had to rethink our plan. Willow used a bit of her magic to temporarily push the crowd away, allowing Spike to rush forward.

There was a demon atop the tower by the name of Doc. The others have had encounters with this seemingly old and harmless demon before. However, he revealed to Spike and Xander earlier that his loyalties rested with Glory. It was obvious that Glory had instructed him to perform the ritual for her, if she was unable to reach Dawn. We continued our attack to keep the minions from following after Spike. Doc ended up throwing him off of the tower, anyway. If he wasn't already dead, that fall would have been the end of him.

Dawn was, once more, at risk. Buffy had subdued Glory, making her so weak, she reverted back to Ben. After she rushed off to save Dawn, I took matters into my own hands. I said before that Buffy hands were not meant to end human life. I meant it. My soul has already been damned. I'm not an idiot. I know full well when my time is finished here, Eyghon awaits me. As such, I took it upon myself to soil my soul just a little more, so hers could remain pure and untainted. Ben had to die. Perhaps the noble thing to do would have been to let him live. If he ever lost himself to Glory again, we'd merely reconvene for another righteous fight.

That was a risk I refused to allow. The war against Glory would be ended there. So, I suffocated Ben. He's dead now. Glory is finished. There is no hope of her returning to this realm. Buffy, dear reader, is a hero, you see. She knew full well that by keeping Ben alive, it potentially placed herself and the world at risk later. Still, knowing these consequences, she spared him.

It's this purity that eventually led her to her . . . sacrifice.

Doc succeeded in cutting Dawn. The blood started spilling, and the ritual began. There was only one way to end it . . . the blood needed to stop flowing. I saw the walls separating dimensions and realities crumbling. We had a taste of the true apocalypse that was to come. Demons were unleashed, there was even a dragon at one point. Of those monsters, I am uncertain of what happened to them. Particularly the dragon . . . though I hope it simply flew into another dimension before the walls were reconstructed.

Buffy removed Doc from the tower. And then she . . . ran and jumped into the portal. Her blood was the same as Dawn's. After all, the monks had made Dawn from Buffy. Her blood closed the portal, and the world was saved. My world wasn't, but . . . the common world was. No, my world died in a heap of rubble, her body broken and twisted. Her death was not graceful. There was nothing beautiful about it. They had to spray the cement under her because of the blood and . . . bits . . . that had clung to the cement.

We buried her earlier today. It was quiet. Her true family was present. Dawn imparted to us Buffy's final words. She wished to tell me that she had figured it out, and that she was okay. That Dawn needed to take care of her friends, that we had to take care of each other, and we needed to be strong. That the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. To be brave, and live, for her. Those were her wishes. I assume that her figuring it out meant the riddle the First Slayer had given to her—death was her gift. Well, if this is my bloody birthday present, I rather prefer to return it.

I thought I'd end it here, but it's difficult to know how to close. I face a future of uncertainty. I have no thread keeping me planted here. Only ghosts remain to me now. I can't stay in Sunnydale. I know that, at least. Everywhere I look, there's a memory, and it takes the breath right out of my lungs. Losing Jenny was hard, but _this._ I loved her. Our destinies were entwined since the beginning of the fabric of time. Everything led us to meet and share and support and . . . part. There is an otherworldly connection between Watcher and Slayer. Undefinable. Whatever goodness I had in my soul, it belonged to her. The tapestry of fate wove our two threads together in a tight knot. Now one has been cut loose, and the other dangles, solitary and unsure of where to be sewn next.

Willow is headed to LA in the morning to inform Angel and Cordelia of her passing. I'm going to ensure Dawn is taken care of before I . . . before I make preparations to leave for England. My Slayer has passed on. I'm officially retired now. My fight is done. Of my grief, there are no words that can begin to describe the agony and confusion one feels when one loses someone akin to their child. I suppose the most accurate sense I can detail is as if I'm living in a world half-asleep. I sense that objects and people are around me, but I am unable to fully comprehend and realize them. Everything is hazy, and my mind refuses to focus enough to make those phantoms around me become flesh and blood. I live in a half-state of existence. How can I not? My other half has been taken from me.

I suppose I should end with Buffy's desire for us all. She saved the world. A lot. She's made it possible for us all to live. It's over for me. As I said, everything ended for me when she sacrificed herself, but for you, reader, it's out there still. You live because of Buffy Summers. So, be brave. Take care of each other. And live.

Live for Buffy.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	101. Bargaining: Part One

I've decided to return to London.

I'm currently sitting in my seat next to an elderly chap who seems to have mastered snoring both out of his mouth and his nostrils. Oh, the joys of international travel. To be honest, I thought the last report would be final, but I suppose I ought to end with my own story. Since Buffy's death, I've been teetering on the decision to leave Sunnydale or remaining. For a time, I thought I might stay and watch over the Scoobies.

After all, even though Buffy has passed, the vampire population is still increasing. Without Faith—the current and only Slayer—to defend the innocent people situated on the Hellmouth, the Scoobies decided to take it upon themselves to continue Buffy's work. In an effort to help them prepare for such battles, I remained and imparted upon them any wisdom and training I could provide. However, it only became clear to me that my place there is unnecessary as well. I rather feel as I did in Buffy's early college days—purposeless.

The Scoobies are young. For many years, the occult and supernatural have run through their lives as frequently as trips to the grocer. I understand. It's difficult to turn one's back on the shadows when one knows what lurks within them. This is their fight now. I'm just an old man these days. Melee has never been a particular strength of mine, anyway. Without Buffy requiring me to aid her in training and research, I really don't have a reason to stick around. My reason was her.

To keep the threat level at a minimum, we decided to bring back the Buffybot and masquerade her as the real Buffy. It's been working so far. Willow has carefully programmed her to respond and speak and fight as the real Buffy would. There's been a few causes for improvement here and there, but it's been working. I trained the Buffybot as I would the real thing . . . and it was actually my last session with the robot that solidified my decision.

I realized—thanks to a blunt Anya as always—that I was trying to cling to the Buffybot and treat her as if she were Buffy. The way I spoke to it, treated it, expected it to be more human. The Buffybot expressed that she enjoyed my teachings and that every Slayer needs her Watcher. It prompted me to consider that statement. Buffy had never really needed me. Not since she graduated. Perhaps even before she graduated. I had never met someone more capable than Buffy Summers. I tried to guide and prepare her, but . . . To be honest, I've always been doing so blindly. We're trained at the Academy to bring our Slayers up a certain way, and had I been a good Watcher, I might have pushed Buffy harder to align more accurately with those training methods. Instead, I gave her free rein. I was a terrible Watcher, in truth.

She may be alive had I been the Watcher the Academy and Council wanted me to be. Of course, they likely toast my name now. Rupert Giles, an officially retired Watcher, who got his Slayer killed. I get to join that room now. My name on a plaque. Cards of sympathy in the mail. The Council never particularly liked Buffy either, because they couldn't control her. They'll likely hope Faith dies before long, so they can sink their claws into the next Slayer and brainwash her into being their little monkey again. Well, Council, I did my job. I got my Slayer killed. Bravo for me.

Anyway, the Buffybot asked that if I had done my job, why I was still there . . . and I had no answer for her. Dawn is being taken care of by Tara and Willow. Willow has assumed the role of decision-maker and has only grown in her power as a Witch. She can speak in our minds now. It's rather uncomfortable, to be honest, that particular trick. Xander has managed to be the glue holding everyone together, and Anya has proven herself more than once to be capable of running my shop without my constant presence. There's nothing for me in Sunnydale. Even the lure of fighting and Slaying vampires serves only as a painful reminder to me of my failures and of the keen absence among us.

Not to mention, whenever we hunt in the graveyard, I can't bear to look at _her_ tombstone. That makes the grief as poignant as ever. Besides, I see it enough in my nightmares as it is. Sunnydale is full of ghosts now. The only place I can run to is London. A quiet retirement. Perhaps I'll open up a Magic Box overseas as well. I have a farm in Bath. Perhaps I'll become a grocer after all, selling the food I grow. At the very least, I know I'm washing my hands of the Great Fight. Like the Watchers before me, I'll disappear quietly into the footnotes of the Council history books.

I attempted to disappear quietly from Sunnydale, too, but the Scoobies found my note and rushed to wish me farewell. I had really hoped to leave without making a fool of myself, but . . . trust them to make it difficult for me. They arrived at the airport just before my flight was called. A few parting gifts were given to me—a card, a little monster pencil cap, some snacks. Everything had been precious. These were my children. My family. They may not have been connected to me as strongly as Buffy, but I held—and hold—a fondness for each of them. We embraced. I told Dawn to call me if she ever needed anything. I know her father is still out there, but the man is such a cad, I'd prefer her to contact me before him.

And Willow . . . my dear Willow. I suppose everyone has favorites. After Buffy, Willow is undoubtedly the closest to me. It was the most difficult to say farewell to her. I've watched her grow from a shy, uncomfortable-in-her-own-skin young girl to a powerful, self-assured shining example of society. If I were to ever have a daughter, I'd have wanted her to be exactly like Willow. I told her—and them—to be careful. I'm not sure I could survive another phone call informing me that one of them had died in the line of duty, too.

Willow assured me that they'd miss me . . . but they'd be okay. It was all I needed to hear to know that I was making the right decision. They're grown-up now. They don't need an adult.

And I'll miss them.

But I'll be okay, too.

Rupert Giles, Watcher Emeritus, ending this journal in the year 2001.


	102. Flooded

That retirement didn't last long.

I was in England a little more than a week, and what happens? Buffy comes back to life. I'm not sure how many more times my heart can take that little stunt. Not to mention, I had to go through a nearly endless line of red tape to retrieve my Watcher Diary . . . er, journal . . . from the Vault underneath the headquarters of the Council. Upon my return to England, I gave my final report to Travers about Buffy's death, and then turned over my Diary. It's common practice to collect all of the journals of the Retired Watchers in their library for future reference. Mine barely even started to collect dust before I removed it from its shelf.

So, here we are. Back at it again. I can hardly believe it, myself. Indeed, when Willow called me and informed me that she had brought Buffy back to life, I could barely believe it. I thought she was mistaken, that she brought back something that looked like Buffy, but was not Buffy. After all, bringing someone back to life is an extraordinary difficult task. Yet, somehow, Willow succeeded. Though I'll touch on that later.

The airplane could not fly fast enough, that is most certain. The nearly twelve hour flight seemed triple that. I don't think I've slept once since I received the call. When I arrived in Sunnydale, I ordered a taxi to the Magic Box, and lo behold . . . there she was. Buffy in the real, Buffy-like flesh. It was her. I could see it in her eyes. Somehow, my Slayer has been returned to me.

It's difficult for me to put down my feelings on the matter. These are just words on a page. Nothing will quite sufficiently convey the overwhelming awe and joy and incredulity I felt when seeing her. Nor the following trepidation when I poked gently to see if she was all there. The only experience I can liken it to that might make my reader understand, is that feeling of arriving home after having a long, exhausting and grimy time away—be it from a social gathering or work or vacation. That moment when one steps into the familiarity one has created, and there's a moment where one just sighs and feels so relieved—deep into one's bones—to be _home._ That is the closest correlation of sensation I can draw upon, and even that does the feeling injustice.

After a much-needed embrace—in which she nearly broke my spine—I took her back to the training room. Our conversation was a little awkward. It's obvious to me that she's hiding something . . . or keeping something repressed. Whether it's the truth of the torment she experienced, or the torment she is receiving now, I am unsure. But it hurts her, and she kept avoiding my eyes whenever we came too close to it. My Slayer has returned, but some parts of her were left . . . wherever it was she went to after she died.

The simple truth is . . . we don't know where her soul went after she died. Willow has expressed time and again that she believes Buffy was locked in a hell dimension. Considering that she threw herself into a portal that was opening every hell dimension to ever exist, I can understand that argument. It would be easy for a demon to just snatch her soul the moment it passed from her body. I hope that is the case. If Buffy was, in fact, in Heaven . . . then we've done something horribly, horribly wrong.

This leads me to . . . Willow. My powerful little witch whom I trusted the most. She has not only betrayed my confidence, she has betrayed Buffy. Despite her grief, her pain, at losing Buffy, it was not her place to tamper with the forces of life and death. Regardless of how I feel about Buffy being back, she is an abomination. She is not supposed to be here. And she's aware of that, too. There are impenetrable walls Buffy has created for herself, as if she's afraid of what might happen to her if she let anyone close, if she connected to the world again. She's lost, and it pains me to see her fumbling. It isn't just for Buffy's sake that I'm cross and disappointed with Willow.

There wasn't a single thought to the consequences. Willow could have destroyed the world. She could have ripped open a new portal to a hell dimension and brought in the Apocalypse. Not to mention the cost of such a powerful spell. I carry with me my price for just a few parties and gags. Eyghon gets to have my soul once I move on. Did Willow sell her soul, too? Is she even aware if she did or not? To bring someone back to life, there is always a hefty price tag. I'm not sure she looked at the cost properly before casting.

Finally, the taint done to Willow, herself. Performing such potent and primal magicks leaves its mark. Not physically, but psychologically. Half the reason my mates and I kept up with Eyghon wasn't because of the high experienced from the drugs and the sex, it was because of the potent magicks themselves. Performing magicks, feeling it coursing through oneself is a trip all its own, and it is wildly addicting. All it takes to set off down that slippery slope is one powerful spell. Thus far, Willow seems unchanged by the casting, but I am . . . concerned.

Suffice it to say, our relationship is a tad strained. Perhaps I was too stern, but she needs to realize how dangerous her action was. Especially unsupervised as she was. Naturally, after the events of the evening, I found myself unable to sleep on the overly-girly sheets Buffy had provided for me. I'm currently staying in the Summers' residence, since I rather sold off my flat here. A pity, since I quite enjoyed that place. Anya has made it clear that she is the primary owner of the Magic Box now, so I can't very well bunk over there either. Not to mention, it doesn't have a shower, and I'm hardly barbaric enough for that sort of lifestyle.

Anyway, unable to sleep, I took to reading in the hopes that I might eventually tire myself out. Dawn came downstairs and expressed that she was unable to sleep as well. She had just asked me to join her in a grand cereal experiment when a M'Fashnik demon broke into the home. Yes, I was knocked unconscious. I'm sporting quite the bruise from breaking the staircase, too. Nothing like an American Welcome Back souvenir.

This demon was someone Buffy had encountered earlier at a bank, when she was trying to get a loan. I know the species as a mercenary unit. They perform acts of slaughter and mayhem for the highest bidder. Really, robbing banks is rather low-brow for them, so I'm rather perplexed as to who could be giving the orders. Regardless, Buffy killed him in her flooded basement. I don't know why it's flooded nor when it started flooding, but there's enough water down there to have a nice, relaxing kayak excursion in.

Buffy has maintained her strength and agility and prowess, regardless of her experience. Though I missed the entire fight, the fact that she took down one of these mercenaries proves her retained abilities alone. I'd like to test her reflexes as well, but she was called away by Angel, no less. Willow must have called him and told him the news about Buffy as well. She informed Dawn and myself that they needed to see one another and . . . left.

Which is why I am currently sitting in her living room staring at a stack of bills that need to be paid. Never mind the pounding headache in my temple or the trashed furniture strewn about me. Finances have come to bite Buffy in the arse. She confided in me that she was at a loss of what to do with them—and hence her brief attempt to receive a loan. Looking through the mess, it is quite the overwhelming mountain, I agree. We were so busy fighting Glory, that we all seemed to forget that without Buffy's mother there, bills were being unpaid. I'm honestly surprised there's still electricity running in this place.

Once she returns, we'll have to figure out a more lasting solution. For now, I'll pay off some of these bills and get her the head start she needs. Adjustment is required. Not just for myself in realizing that Buffy is back, but for Buffy herself, being back in the real world. As I said, she isn't entirely here. Not yet.

I can touch her, but I can't _feel_ her.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	103. Life Serial

Buffy has returned after her visit to Angel, and more than that, she has successfully failed three different professions.

Granted, not all of that is entirely her fault. Some is, in part, due to a red, winged demon that seemed fit to play tricks on her. It had been toying with her for the past few days and has only just now run-off, giving up its game. Allow me to record the mischievous nature, in the event that it crops up again anytime in the future.

First, the demon made her experience some sort of time-anomaly. Buffy was attempting to return to university through the aid of Willow and Tara. The plan they had come up with was to have Buffy audit the classes until she could register and become a student again in full. Being an educated fellow myself, I was content with this course of action. Though it is difficult to imagine Buffy becoming a CEO of a great corporate chain, the thought of her achieving a degree and finding some place in the workforce was a calming one.

It was not meant to be. Shortly after she joined Tara, Buffy experienced an acceleration of time. When she became aware, time had jumped ahead by quite the margin. It began with minutes, then an hour, and soon time was skipping forward indefinitely. The way Buffy tells how it came to an end was that she discovered a small device attached to her shirt. Upon her discovering it, the device disappeared or imploded. After that, time resumed to its normal pace.

At this juncture, I thought nothing of it, admittedly. I merely suspected that the stress of returning to school—and how busy and fast-paced school can be—had given her a sort of tunnel vision effect. I hadn't imagined that it could be a demon playing with her perception of time. We decided that Buffy might want to wait until her bearings were ordinated more securely before walking among the student body once again.

As such, the next day, she joined Xander at a construction site. I should mention that Xander has grown considerably over the past few years. Though he still has his spouts of immaturity—it is Xander, after all—he has found a niche in the world that suits him perfectly. Construction. In seemingly no time at all, he has risen to the rank of supervisor. More than that, I think he enjoys his work, which is more than can be said for many people in the world. As supervisor, he's had to take on more of a leadership role and designate orders to men far older than him. It takes a certain grain of maturity to be able to do this without ruffling feathers or accruing sleepless nights. I will admit there's a spark of pride in me for his accomplishments.

At any rate, Buffy joined the construction force. Physically, it made sense. It takes considerable amount of time and stress and wear to tire her. By all reports, she was actually speeding up the process of construction. Though, unfortunately, by Buffy's report, the men there were frighteningly misogynistic and rude. Equally rude were the monsters that appeared. Demons sporting sharp teeth ambushed Buffy on the site. She destroyed them . . . as well as a portion of the building being constructed. Suffice it to say, Xander had no choice but to sack her.

Since Buffy had been under attack twice, it was clear that some research was required to illuminate just what was behind these attacks. Thus, I devoted my time to examining the different demons that can both tamper with time perception and command the breed of demon that Buffy encountered. Though I spent the greater part of the day devoted to my task, I was unable to find a link between the two. The demons who can tamper with time are powerful and—thankfully—rare. Cross-referencing them with the specific demons that attacked Buffy, I uncovered no matches.

We were at a dead end in that regard. Since Buffy had hit a dead end in her search for a profession as well, I took her on as another salesperson for my shop. She can be bubbly and personable when she chooses to be, and I rather thought she might make a pleasant contrast to Anya's sometimes rather blunt approach to customer service. Buffy's retail experience was . . . short-lived. Though she successfully sold an item to a customer—a Mummy hand, no less—she rather forgot to charge the customer for the delivery fee. Anya thought the correct course of action would be to take it from Buffy's pay. Though I was uncomfortable with the idea—it's difficult to punish Buffy in any regard—I agreed.

Buffy quit immediately.

Later that evening, she arrived home thoroughly sloshed and ill. Whilst she vomited her stomach lining into the toilet, I fixed her some tea. Between bouts of illness, she told me that she went out drinking with Spike, of whom was convinced he could get to the bottom of who was behind the attacks on Buffy. For, unbeknownst to me, Buffy was also attacked in my shop. Apparently, she was reliving the same few minutes over and over with the woman who required the Mummy Hand. It only stopped when she properly sold the woman the desired product.

During her night out, she recognized a dark van that she had recognized at the construction site. Out of the van came a large red and winged demon. Despite her drunkenness, Buffy had put on a decent fight, and the demon fled . . . or blew up . . . she wasn't entirely clear on that matter. Regardless, it seems as though the demon has been scared off for good, so the attacks have been put to an end. A good thing, too, as Buffy—especially tonight—seems entirely drained. We had a nice chat in her room earlier where she expressed dismay over screwing everything up.

She looked lost. Broken. The Buffy I remember—smiling, punny and confident—was nowhere to be seen in the hollow, tired young woman that spoke to me then. So, I decided to lend a hand. To be honest, I'd been toying with the idea of paying for the bills myself for some time. After all, it wasn't exactly Buffy's fault that everything came to a head at once. She needs some even ground. From here, she can build on her own.

A change occurred in her when she saw the check I gave to her. For the first time in a long time, I saw a light rekindle in her eyes. I'm hopeful that she'll be able to find her footing and stand on her own after this. Though . . . I must confess . . . she expressed that she felt like her mother was back. Meaning, of course, that a parental figure had returned to her life—someone to coddle her and care for her. Though I should always like to be able to hold her hand in life and help her, I know all too well that it would only damage her in the long run.

I'm not her father. As much as I love Buffy, I am not the "shiftless, absentee father" that she desires me to be. And unlike her conception that I am always going to be there . . . I'm not. There will come a time—sooner or later—where I will be gone. Dead. And unlike Buffy, I won't be coming back. She'll have to stand on her own then, and if she continues to expect a helping hand from me, then she will be unable to do so. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, anyway. There is still time yet. Buffy will find her way.

So long as I don't stand in her way.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	104. All The Way

The apocalypse has begun—Dawn has reached her rebellious teenaged stage.

One would think that something as pure as the Key would have skipped over that unpleasantness . . . but I suppose at the end of the day, she's nothing but a regular teenaged girl. In true fashion, she snuck out on Halloween and nearly died.

Oh, yes, that reminds me, Happy Halloween!

As one might imagine, the store was a madhouse. Regulars were buying up extra stock for an additional boost of whatever mischief they intended to get up to. The Holiday shoppers were there to spice up their Halloween. And the others thought they could find the last item to really kick their costume into life. I was dressed as a wizard this year. Partly because I had little time to actually go shopping, and I already had a wizard costume lying about, and partly because I wanted to be Albus Dumbledore on a budget.

Due to the rush, it was all hands on deck . . . except for Xander, who also had a hook. It's the last time I ever allow him to dress as a pirate. One more prod with that hook from him, and I was going to ram it straight up his arse. Buffy was even there to lend a hand, though she tried to escape once to "patrol." As if she needed to patrol on Halloween. The only people she needed to protect on Halloween were gathered in a stuffy, crowded occult shop.

A surprise awaited us after we closed up shop for the evening. Xander announced that he and Anya are engaged to be married! To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. After all, they're quite young, and having worked closely with Anya, I'm quite aware of how . . . constricting . . . she can be. Yet, even as young as they are, it reminded me that they are not _quite_ as young as I believe them to be. Bugger, I feel old.

More than that, even, I'm becoming more and more aware that I'm likely going to end my life as a bachelor. There's some trace amount of sadness attached to this acceptance. Meeting a woman now, who could understand my lifestyle and support it, would be extremely difficult. I've had a few moments this evening to reflect about past love . . . missed opportunities for love. I'm always brought back to her . . . Jenny Calendar. Miss Calendar. There are times where I think we were meant to be together. She had already been part of that life. She was intelligent and capable. Beautiful and enticing. It's extraordinary to think she's been gone for nearly four years now. In the wake of Xander's engagement, I find myself thinking of 'what-if's.' Had she not been killed, would we be married by now? Would we have children? Would we be happy?

Before I further depress myself on that subject—I've had quite a few drinks tonight—allow me to return to the events that occurred earlier this evening. After the announcement, Buffy thought it would be a lovely idea to have a party for Xander and Anya that night. We returned to the Summers residence where I fixed drinks—alcoholic libations!—and we took turns congratulating the engaged couple. Willow used magic to plant decorations along the house. Tara and I had a brief discussion about Willow's continuous use of magicks.

To my relief, Tara stands in agreement with my concerns. She has noticed that Willow turns to magic whenever the opportunity arises, even for the most menial of tasks. I already gave my stern lecture to her. Hopefully, Tara can reach Willow. Someone needs to before she falls too deeply into the seduction. I know it. I've tasted it. Once it grips oneself, it is difficult to be free of it. The power is . . . incredible . . . addictive. I noticed some strain between them throughout the night, so hopefully Tara was successful.

It is also key that I note that shortly after the party began, Dawn mentioned her plans to spend the evening at her friend Janice Penshaw's home. Buffy was unable to make a firm decision without first consulting me. I informed her that it wasn't my place to decide if Dawn went to Janice's or not. After a great deal of hesitation, Buffy allowed her to go. I will refer to this moment again later in my entry. Dawn left the house, and the party continued.

At one point, I found Xander taking a few minutes to himself upon the stairs. I thought it an excellent opportunity to talk to him man-to-man. Shortly after marriage, the usual path is home and children. Though I inwardly cringe at the thought of a second generation of Xander's—especially Xander's mixed with Anya—I thought it best to open his eyes to such paths. For example, since I'm quite aware of how much Anya makes, I suggested that with their combined income of man and wife, he might be able to put a down payment on a home of their own.

The so-named 'American Dream' could very much be within their grasp. Of course, since they're so young, I also assured him that he had the rest of his life with Anya to plan . . . well . . . the rest of their life. Goodness knows I'm still planning and re-planning mine. Life, after all, does not occur in a single line. There's pauses and abrupt corners, and sometimes plans have to shift or adapt. It's something I've learned, and a lesson that will no doubt quickly rear its ugly head in the marital life of the Harris'.

Though I did not mention children to Xander, Anya was eager to bring up the subject anyway. She also informed me of quite a few marriage and wedding statistics I previously was entirely unaware of, so . . . an educational evening, if anything. Names for children was brought up, and I offered my own. After all, Rupert is strong and old. It harkens to a time of nobility and honor. Yet, Anya equated it to eating paste and being bullied. I suppose in today's society, she has a point. Alas, so much for having my name live on among the progeny.

Later on, when Buffy left to patrol after all, I received a call from Janice's mother. Apparently, they had done the old "tell each other's guardians we're staying at each other's homes" gag . . . and we fell for it. I delegated the search party. Xander and Anya were to remain at the house in case Mrs. Penshaw called. Tara and Willow ere to search downtown. I was going to head to Spike's and head-off Buffy to rope her into the search party as well. However, upon arriving at Spike's, I found that I had arrived first. I left Spike with instructions to inform Buffy of Dawn's hijinks and went to search the local cemetery.

It is at this point where I am pleased to write that though I may be older, I was able to kick some bloody arse like the best of them. While traversing the cemetery, I heard a scream. Thinking it was Dawn, I rushed in to find a vampire feeding on a teenaged girl. I fought him off spectacularly—kicking him onto a tree where a branch staked him spot-on. It was brilliant. The teenaged girl was actually Janice, and she managed to give me a general idea of where Dawn was located.

I rushed in just as she was about to be bitten. Fresh off my victory, I was quite sure that I could defeat this vampire as well . . . until his back-up arrived. For whatever reason, these vampires thought breaking with tradition and attacking on Halloween was good form. Buffy and Spike joined me shortly after, and we charged into battle. Though I acquired a rather nasty busted lip and sore jaw, I dusted two more vampires during that fight. Dawn dusted the vampire who had shown an interest in her, and the rest were dusted either by Buffy or Spike.

Once we returned home, and I had a nice ice pack pressed to my face—and a few more drinks—I told Buffy that it was time she had a talk with Dawn. These rebellious urges are best dealt with early. Buffy agreed . . . and then promptly left the matter in my hands and disappeared up to her room. Twice that evening, she blanched in the face of responsibility. Twice she attempted to make me the sole arbiter in a matter that does not concern me. Buffy refuses to take on that responsibility. Dawn is not my daughter, but she _is_ Buffy's younger sister. She needs Buffy not me.

Since Buffy had run off, however, I was left to speak with Dawn. I expressed my disappointment and anger with her. After all, we had just spent the better part of the year trying to keep her out of danger. Buffy had died to save her. Yet she blatantly lied to our faces to satisfy some urge to feel dominance. After the stern scolding, I tried to rein myself in a tad and attempt a new tactic. It's difficult to swallow that I had become my father—or, really, my grandmother—in this scenario. Though _my_ rebelling was far more dangerous than just sneaking out at night to possibly have a shag. Still, the scolding put a sour taste in my mouth.

As such, I instead tried to tell her that I understood the impulses she felt, the pressures and stigmas. I'm not entirely sure she bought it. I knew I wouldn't have when I was her age. I told her that all she needed to do was talk to Buffy . . . to be honest with her. That all we wanted was to make sure she was safe. Time will tell if any of this sank in. It would have bounced right off of my thick head. Here's to hoping she's wiser than I was at her age.

As for myself, I'm going to finish this . . . bottle? When did I start drinking the whole bottle? Nurse a hangover in the morning and likely kill my Slayer. She's learned the truth about why I clean my glasses.

She knows too much.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	105. Once More with Feeling

(To the tune of: 'I've Got a Theory.')

 _I had a theory._

 _That a demon—a dancing demon, straight out of a nightmare_

 _Had made things eerie._

 _We were all singin'—and no matter what we did we couldn't stop the fun-fare_

 _And though we were leery, we had found the route._

 _Instead of cheery, we became all the more resolute._

(To the tune of: 'What You Feel')

 _It wasn't all play_

 _For after awhile_

 _People were burning a-way_

 _Their bodies left in a big pile._

 _Then we had a Dawn situation._

 _She was captured by the demon in question._

 _Though I made us stay_

 _For it was Buffy's trial._

[To the tune of: 'Standing')

 _She's not steady_

 _In her mind though I've tried._

 _Despite my urging_

 _She stays dead inside._

 _And no matter what I do she's there for the ride_

 _So I . . ._

 _I tried to lighten_

 _And support her still._

 _But she refuses_

 _And remains as ill._

 _I learned my lesson_

 _Must swallow the pill._

 _That I . . ._

 _Must stay away, hang up the swords_

 _To help her understand._

 _For if I stay as father_

 _She'll never learn to stand._

 _I want to stay_

 _But now I understand_

 _I'm standing in the way._

(To the tune of: 'Something to Sing About')

 _So we go_

 _To help Buffy take heart_

 _Tear the demon apart_

 _But he was just too smart._

 _The pull for Buffy was too strong_

 _Though she went well along_

 _Singing his silly songs._

 _Too far deep—she groped_

 _Reaching in—she fell_

 _Revealing—too much_

 _Losing grip—on her—sense of—the way._

 _So she started to whirl_

 _The smoke began to rise and to swirl._

 _Yet in the throng_

 _Something went wrong._

 _Spike held her fast and stopped the bout_

 _And so defeated the daft lout._

(To the tune of: 'Where do We Go From Here?')

 _In the end it was clear_

 _She had sang without sneer_

 _Where she had gone_

 _There was harm for none._

 _She was in a different sphere._

 _Expelled out by her peers._

 _It pains her to be near_

 _The world is so severe._

 _In Heaven she dwelled, yet I feel compelled_

 _To no longer help her steer._

 _Help me . . ._

 _To leave I must adhere._

. . . I don't know why I'm sing-writing. Ahem. Dancing demon was defeated. Dawn was saved. Xander was to blame. Buffy was in Heaven.

I'm leaving Sunnydale tomorrow night.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	106. Tabula Rasa

Not to sound like a one-trick pony, but this is to be my last report . . . again.

After one last jarring adventure, which I shall record below, I have made my decision final. Even now, I sit crammed between two strangers on a flight to London. It was a decision I've been fretting over for a few weeks now. It hurts me to put it into practice, but it is the only way I can think of that will jar Buffy back into life.

Since learning that she was, in fact, in heaven after she died, it has become all the more clear to me why she has been having difficulties adjusting into normal life. After one experiences the peace and harmony of heaven, life can seem . . . pointless. Since gentle prodding and redundant hinting has not done the trick, I was left with my final resort—to leave Sunnydale and remove the crutch she has transformed me into.

Without her mother present, Buffy has especially clung to me. This would not have been a problem had I been able to tell her no. Yet the truth of the matter is that I cannot bear to see her suffer. My choice to leave was primarily for my own benefit—if one can call it such. I know that so long as I remain in her life, I will never be able to let her stand on her own. I do not have it in me to see her struggle and suffer any more than is required of her. Simply put, I do not trust myself to stay on the sidelines. The only solution is to remove myself from the equation entirely.

As one can imagine, she did not take the news kindly. Indeed, she very nearly broke my resolve. God knows it pains me to see her cry. The connection between Watcher and Slayer has always been strong—especially between Buffy and myself. When she suffers, I suffer. I can feel her suffering tonight. The worst bit of it is knowing that I'm the cause for it.

It was my choice to leave that brought the Scoobie Gang to the Magic Box one last time. I wished to announce it to them, so that we could have our proper farewells and be done with it. Shortly after I informed them, however, we all passed out. It was at this point that an odd adventure began. Only now, having had my memories restored, do I understand in its completion. I shall attempt to record the details here.

When we awoke, none of us could remember our names, who we were, who each other were, or why we were in a magic store. Through careful examination of our driver's licenses, some of us were able to ascertain our names. Since I had accidentally fallen asleep on Anya, we believed ourselves to be engaged. This was further given credence when Anya "discovered" the papers that had our names written together in the business' reports. Buffy and Dawn determined that they were sisters, though Buffy was calling herself Joan.

I make a small tangent here to bring up again the Slayer known as Joan of Arc. At the time, it did not strike me at all as to why Buffy would choose that name for herself. Having had my memories restored, I found that the name she had chosen for herself all too apt. After all, Joan was excommunicated from the Church, just as Buffy was expelled from heaven. As I mentioned in my earlier diaries, Joan of Arc was also a Slayer. It's merely a curious incident that Buffy would choose the name of another Slayer, even when she had no recollection of being the Slayer, herself.

Willow and "Alexander" as he was going as, believed that they were dating, since Willow was wearing a jacket with Xander's name on it. And Spike somehow became my son named Randy Giles. I shudder at the thought. Also, it should have been clear to me in that moment that he was not, in fact, my son. I'd name my son Rupert Jr. and be done with it.

In our amnesia-addled minds, we thought the best course of action would be to check in at the hospital. On our way, we were ambushed by vampires. Naturally, for us at the moment, it gave us quite the startle. They broke into the shop and attacked Spike and Buffy. Naturally, Buffy rid herself of the one attacking her. Muscle memory, clearly, is far more lasting than soft memory. Determining that she was some sort of superhero, she took charge of the situation.

After, of course, we revived Xander, who had passed out shortly after the fight concluded, the plan was set. Buffy and Spike would lure the vampires away. Anya and myself would seek a magical means to restoring our memories, and Willow, Xander, Tara and Dawn would head through the secret exit to the sewers to reach the hospital. This is where things became—somehow—odd more still.

While Anya busied herself looking through magic books, I discovered my plane ticket in my jacket pocket. It was a one-way ticket to London, and I surmised that I was leaving Anya. With the antics she displayed as the night progressed, it became more and more clear to this version of me, that that was precisely what I had planned. Anya, and I'm not entirely sure HOW to this very moment, kept summoning bunnies. As one might recall, Anya loathes bunnies. For whatever reason, she believes they have some form of nefarious purpose. Yet, here they were all, hopping around my shop. Dozens of them.

Eventually, she summoned a skeleton as well. A very lively skeleton that challenged all who came across it to a duel. Suffice it to say, my swordsmanship was put to the test this evening. Throughout this all, we were bickering . . . exactly like an old married couple. She even hit me over the head with a book! I let it slip that I was leaving her in the heat of the crisis, and she threw her ring away. I should mention, also, that at this point she had summoned some form of ogre-troll-demon. It was terrifying, to say the least, and we were keen on not letting it see us.

At long last, I found the right book and restored all of the bunnies, skeletons and ogre-troll-demons to their respectful dimensions. Ahem. Let this be known here, so I can properly burn it out of my memory later. I apologized to Anya. Anya asked me to stay. I . . . kissed Anya. Naturally, mid-snog, the spell—for spell it had been that had made us lose our memories in the first place—was broken. Suffice it to say, Anya and I were horrified and spent the rest of the evening avoiding each other and cleaning the shop. I don't think it's ever looked so clean.

And now I'm here. In the end, I did not say goodbye to anyone. Buffy never returned. Willow and Tara were fighting, and Anya was quick to leave with Xander once he showed up to pick her up from work. I can't help but feel I'm leaving them in a knot that is rapidly becoming unwound and destabilizing. They'll figure it out though. They're not children anymore.

It's time I stopped holding their hands.

-Rupert Giles

2001


	107. A Brief Period of Retirement

**Author's Note: My dear readers! Please excuse the long delay in an update. School became a priority, and then there was a bout of laziness, BUT we should be back on some form of schedule once more. There's only a few more Watcher Diaries to go now! You've all been brilliant and absolutely delightful readers, and I appreciate all of the love and support this humble fic has received. Without further ado, and since I was requested quite a bit to place something pertaining to Giles' retirement, I present to you . . . Giles' Retired Life!**

* * *

Once a writer, always a writer, I suppose.

Though I shant be recording any further adventures surrounding the Slayer, I've found that I've grown so fond of journaling, that I'd continue with the habit in my now private—and retired—life. I've been in England—Bath, specifically—for a fortnight now, and the weather has been exceedingly kind to me. For those who are familiar with England's weather—especially Bath's—then one can imagine my delight for temperate temperatures and sun-filled skies.

My activities have centered around rebuilding the farm I own here. I should add that I did not purchase this farm on my own. It's belonged to my family for centuries, but since our primary living arrangements have always been in London—closer to the Council—the farm has since fallen in some disrepair. The housekeeping—two, in number—that are in charge here do what they can, but they're elderly folk and one really can't expect them to do a bit of roofing or patching up of the barn.

Nor can one expect me to do such menial tasks. I had half-a-thought to fly Xander over, since he has some skill with construction, but in a moment of frugality, I opted instead to call for a local repairman. So, the farmhouse has since been under construction. I intend to live here instead of in London long-term. The farm overlooks the most beautiful of scenery—green hills dotted with sheep and trees of myriad colors, almost resembling a watercolor painting.

It's beautiful. I think I shall be quite happy here. The dark has yet to touch this place.

* * *

I visited the Council today. Naturally, they wanted to know everything they could about Buffy, but I merely informed them that she had grown up, and I was retiring from my position. I'd thought that they might have the audacity to throw me a party to celebrate . . . but they didn't. Honestly, I'm not sure which upsets me more.

With that business out of the way, however, I am free to live life as a simple civilian. There's a lovely little tea room in Soho that serves the most delicious of cakes. The woman who owns it is quite kind and has requested that I perform on Tuesdays evenings. She also holds book clubs there. Her interest has been apparent and flattering. Apparently, the old dog has it yet. We'll see where that leads, though I'm afraid those details will never make it to the page. I am a gentleman, after all.

* * *

There was a bit of an accident when installing new plumbing lines. Suffice it to say, the grounds were flooded. The two horses we keep here were taken out safely, and none of the other animals were close enough to be threatened, but the smell is rather nauseating. I've been in ankle-deep in shite before, but . . . never quite so literally.

In other news, I've finished reading the entire library at the farm. I need to procure more books, lest I start to go mad from lack of stimulation. I've also put consideration into learning how to knit. It might be a fine thing to learn how to make socks and sweaters. I could even make Buffy and the Scoobies a few articles of clothing and send it to them for Christmas. I'm sure they'd love it!

* * *

I'm bored. So terribly bored.

* * *

The oddest thing occurred today. I received a call from the leader of a powerful coven here nearby in Devon. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to see the coven's name. Witches enjoy their secrets, and they place great stock in names. Suffice it to say, they're powerful. At any rate, they wanted to meet me with on a matter of great importance. It pertained to Sunnydale. Though I was loathe to leave my fireplace, I hurried my way over and was met warmly despite the slight friction between witches and warlocks—particularly warlocks with a taste for the darker magicks.

They took me to the very heart of their seat of power where their leader informed me that they had sensed a rise of a dangerous magical force in Sunnydale. A dark force that was fueled by grief. Naturally, they were quite concerned, since Sunnydale is quite a great deal of distance from Devon. I, myself, having blocked out my own magical ability did not feel this force, but it troubled me greatly. My thoughts, naturally, led to Willow. After all, she had been having difficulties in keeping herself from using magic . . . and had tasted the power that came with advanced magic.

One of the coven's members is a Seer, and she informed me that she saw the death of one named Tara, and it was this death that birthed the dark force into being. I know it's foolish of me to hope otherwise, but until I see it with my own eyes, I want to believe that Willow is not behind the dark force. If she is . . . it may be too late to save her.

In the morning, the witches shall imbue me with their combined power. If it _is_ Willow I hope I may yet talk some sense into her. If I am unable to do so, perhaps I can find a way to take her power or incapacitate her. If I fail, others will come . . . and they will not show her mercy. At this rate, I just hope the others are safe.

Retirement, it seems, has been cancelled.

-Rupert Giles

2002


	108. Grave

I never thought I'd write these words, but . . . Xander Harris saved the world.

Much has occurred since I set my pen down in England at the completion of my previous entry. Having met with the coven, they gave me their combined power—pure magic, the true essence of it—in the hopes that I may be able to bind Willow long enough for them to discover a way to remove her power without killing her in the process. My first hope was that I may be able to reason with Willow—reach her and make her stop harming others. However, my appearance only served to be a challenge to her.

We fought, and I managed to contain her in a binding spell for a time. I should mention that I teleported back to Sunnydale—quite the dizzying experience—and am now returned to sunny California. While Willow was detained, I was able to catch up with Buffy and recover from the teleportation. Quite the tales she had to tell me of what had occurred while I was retired! For one, it was obvious that Willow had been abusing magic—especially after Tara's death. Xander and Anya broke up on their wedding date. Apparently, Xander had some sort of meltdown and near nervous breakdown. Dawn has been getting into trouble with stealing and is a self-diagnosed kleptomaniac. And Buffy has been sleeping with Spike.

Which I found utterly disgusting, by the way. Spike? I thought Angel was bad, but Spike? Truly? There aren't enough pages in this journal for me to detail the inordinate amount of reasons why Spike is a poor choice of romantic companion.

Upon hearing of all that had transpired since I'd left, and feeling quite convinced that the Scooby-World had been thrown into utter and complete chaos without my presence, I really couldn't help laugh. Thankfully, Buffy was not offended and found it as equally amusing. It seems apparent to me now that I never should have left. Clearly, they're incapable of making good decisions without me.

God, I missed them so.

Despite my apology for having left, Buffy assured me that it was right that I went. It made her face up to herself. Indeed, I am pleased to say that for the first time, I felt as though I was talking to the old Buffy again. Perhaps not quite as starry-eyed or innocent—I don't think she'll ever retain that after all she's been through—but when speaking with her, I felt as though she were actually there. No longer did she have one foot in the grave. She was alive and she was _living._

Speaking of living, Willow managed to escape the binding spell, and we fought once more. I admit that I was quite rusty. It's been decades since I've had this sort of battle. When I was a foolish teenager, Ethan and I would sometimes spar magically. We enjoyed the challenge of keeping each other on their toes, and it was a quick way to learn and bolster our power. Those were lessons that I had long since buried, however, and since the magic I was using did not stem from myself, it was already in the weaker.

At one point, Willow sent an enchanted fireball after Johnathon and Andrew—who apparently assisted the man Willow had killed for killing Tara—and Buffy had to run after it to save them. This left Willow and myself alone. Suffice it to say, my magic store did not survive. Since the first two plans seemed to be futile, I was left with my most desperate. I intended to wear her down, make her use as much of her power as she could. As one can imagine, this required a great deal of torture to be held for myself. I don't think I've ever bumped my head quite so much in a single battle before.

My plan was working, however, despite my discomfort. Willow's power weakened, and so she took mine from me. The pain there was quite excruciating, let me assure you. Since my life force had been tied into the power, when she took it, she had also inadvertently and most assuredly sentenced me to die. I could only lay helpless, feeling the rest of my energy and life leave me, as my plan utterly backfired on me. What I had hoped would happen is that upon taking the true essence of magic into her—the pure light—she would be connected to her humanity once more.

Instead, she was connected to all of humanity, and instead of focusing on the light, she was drawn to the darkness of humanity. She felt the pain of every living soul on earth and decided to end their suffering. I shared a link with her during this time, and her plan became clear to me. She intended to raise the demon temple of Proserpexa and use the planet's life force to funnel its energy through Proserpexa's effigy and burn the earth to a cinder—killing us all.

So great was her power, that I knew neither magical nor supernatural force could stop her. Buffy would be helpless against her, and I was able to see as well—when Willow took a moment to speak to the Slayer—that Buffy had fallen into some sort of pit in a graveyard with Dawn. Even if Buffy wanted to attempt to stop Willow, she was unable to do so. So, I lay there in the ruin of my magic store, with Anya—of all people—at my side, dying slowly. There were a few times where I lost consciousness, and in so doing, I could only see through Willow's eyes and felt the pain she was in.

No amount of physical suffering I received that day compared to the emotional torment and agony that that poor girl was experiencing. I was able to see her memories . . . and watched with my own eyes Tara's death. The suddenness of it . . . the complete unfairness of it . . . it broke my heart. I saw Willow's murder of the one who had killed Tara—the brutality and malice. For a moment, I thought that all was lost.

. . . And then Xander intervened. I saw him through Willow's eyes . . . heard him speak to her. To my utter joy and disbelief, he managed to do what we all failed—reach her. He told her he loved her and remained at her side even as she clawed and injured him. He held her . . . and through the powerful bond of true friendship—god that sounds corny—the world was saved. Willow shut off the dark powers and released her use of magic. My life force returned to me—and despite a few cuts and bruises and perhaps a sprained wrist—I am otherwise unharmed.

My plan had, essentially, worked. That by taking my power, Willow's humanity would be sparked . . . apparently, all it required was Xander to act as catalyst. There is much that is required now. Willow is far from out of the woods. Even if she is no longer actively using her magic, it exists within her, and like any drug, will take some time to leave her system completely. She'll have to fight the need to use it. I believe the best solution will be to take her away from the place that has caused her so much pain for a time and have her recover with those who can aid her better than I.

I intend to take her to the coven in Devon. There they can instruct her on the purer forms of magic and help cleanse the darkness out of her. This will, sadly, require me to leave Sunnydale once again for a time. Though this time I fully intend on returning. Buffy shall know that. So will the others. Hopefully, that will curb any poor choices that may be lurking in their minds. But Willow's health comes first, and as she is as dear to me as Buffy, I must be the one to take her hand.

I can only hope that she finds her light once again.

-Rupert Giles

2002


	109. Lessons

Willow has taken the first steps on her path to recovery.

We arrived in England just a few short days ago after the events in Sunnydale. Willow has been . . . quiet . . . through most of the journey. Not that I can blame her. She's killed a man, regardless of how foul the man was. That sort of stain is difficult to wash from one's soul. I know it well. The mark on my arm is a constant reminder of the blemish to my soul. I had hoped to spare Willow from such a wound, but . . . I suppose it is the bane of any parent—by blood or not—to be inevitably helpless when their child makes mistakes.

Yet, as the one who first introduced magic to Willow, it is my duty to help her find her way again. My intentions are to bring her to the coven in Devon where they will help detoxify the dark magic out of her system and restore her balance. I wish it could be so easy as to remove her connection to magic entirely—it would certainly be easier for her—but she had tapped into the primal vein of magic. It exists inside of her, whether she wants it to or not. As such, she must be instructed on how to use and find peace with the power that now exists within her.

I wish I had known of the coven when I had been on my own magical bender. Though I can't say with absolute certainty that I would have sought their aid even then. My pride has always been a thing of difficulty for me. Instead of finding a way to replace the dark magic within me into light, I chose to close myself off to magic entirely. For myself, I think this was ultimately the best path. Though I trust Willow to keep to the higher path, I could not extend this trust to myself. I know that at the end of the day, I would do unspeakable things to keep those I love protected and safe. As such, I'm not worthy of the power that magic gives . . . I'm not safe enough to wield it.

Time will tell if Willow is any more suitable.

* * *

A few months have passed since Willow and I returned to England. We've been staying at my farmhouse in Bath while Willow has her lessons with Miss Hartness—a witch of the coven. It's remarkable the change that I have seen. Though sometimes despondent, Willow appears far more at peace. With herself—with her grief—with the world. Though she skipped her lesson today, we had a nice talk ourselves. Apparently, she thought that my first intentions in bringing her to England was to kill her or place her in some mystical dungeon.

In truth, I'm not entirely sure what I'd do if she didn't take to her lessons. The thought of killing Willow is as impossible to me as killing Buffy. Though I could not necessarily allow Willow to destroy the world, I'm not sure it could be my hand that would strike her down either. Thankfully, it appears such a measure will not have to be taken. Willow was telling me about her lessons, how Miss Hartness had shown her that everything was connected. The earth to everything, all came from the same source—the same fount, one might say.

Instead of the heady—and sometimes misleading—source of magic stemming from emotion, Willow seems to be learning to tapping into the purest form of magic—that from the earth itself. Life itself. As I said before, the lessons have seemed to mend her considerably. She's returned to her old self in many regards—including her references to pop culture. For example, I have now been assigned the role of Dumbledore to her. Speaking of, yes, I have read all of the books the astounding Rowling has published thus far. One cannot be English and not have read Harry Potter.

There was one disquieting event that occurred just a few hours ago, however. Whilst Willow and I were taking a walk around the farm, she collapsed and seemed to have a panic attack. When I questioned what had happened, she said that she had felt a deep blackness and saw the Earth's Teeth opening. After living so many years atop it, it was quite obvious what she had seen—the Hellmouth is stirring. Willow said that it was going to open and swallow us all.

Normally, I wouldn't pay this any mind. After all, the Hellmouth still exists in Sunnydale and remains active to a point. However, the intensity with which Willow felt it through her connection to the earth and its magic is . . . disturbing. What is even more disturbing is the timing. Buffy Skyped (some new fad that allows people to talk across continents via a webcam and computer) me after dinner to inform me of the reopening of Sunnydale High School. Recall that it had been previously destroyed by the Mayor and yours truly.

The High School is rebuilt—and reopened—and now Willow feels an intense surge stemming from the Hellmouth? Something is afoot. Buffy also said she spent the day—during Dawn's first day as a Freshman, I should add—fighting against three spirits of vengeance that had been created through the construction of a talisman. The spirits seemed keen to take both Buffy and Dawn down. Though said spirits have since been handled, it's obvious that the schoolyear is going to be rather typical of those that occurred when Buffy was a student there.

In addition, the Slayer has now become the High School Counselor . . . of sorts. At least that's what she said. Apparently, her ability to motivate the pariahs of the school into going to class and socializing prompted the new Principal to offer her a job. Considering that the last job Buffy had was flipping burgers and killing old ladies with wigs, I think this is quite the step up.

Despite this forward step in Buffy's life, it's obvious something is pulling us all back to where it all began.

Back to school.

-Rupert Giles

2002


	110. Beneath YouSame Time, Same Place

We lost Willow today.

I don't mean dead. I mean we literally lost her, as in she did not exist for a period of time. Due to the increase of Hellmouth activity, I thought it best that Willow rejoin the others. We've moved past the point of keeping her from using magic. Indeed, the power within her exists whether we—or she—likes it or not. Though she has yet to complete her training with the coven, time is rather of the essence.

When I told Willow that I was sending her back to Sunnydale, she expressed . . . reservations. Quite a few anxious reservations, in fact. The most prominent among them being that her friends won't take her back into their arms. It's an understandable fear. She did nearly kill all of them and say rather nasty things. But if I've learned anything about this rag-tag team of young adults, it's that their hearts are far larger than their egos. Willow may have to prove herself, but I think her anxieties will be found unwarranted.

So, I sent her off to the airport and hoped for the best.

Cut to a long-distance flight later, and I received a call from Buffy saying that Willow did not show up. Immediately, I thought she must have jumped ship either at the airport in London or somewhere along the way. I drove to the airport here, myself, in the hopes of discovering her, but she wasn't there, and according to the security feed, she did, indeed, board the airplane.

Hearing that she hadn't shown up gave me a great shock of apprehension. Willow is in a delicate state at the moment, and I worried that I had pushed her too hard and expected too much of her. Buffy was kind enough to reassure me that it wasn't my fault, and that it was just them that Willow wasn't ready to face. She believed that Willow thought they weren't ready to forgive her, and so likely ran away. Considering her anxiety about reuniting with her friends, I found this reasoning to be likely. Still, for the next few hours, I believed there was a Willow out there who could potentially be volatile.

But my concerns had to momentarily be put on hold, for I received a call from the Watcher's Council wishing to meet. It's from there that I've just returned, in fact. Apparently, there have been some murders worldwide targeting particular individuals. It's common practice for Watchers to keep an eye on the girls who have shown potential to become the next Slayer. That sounds a tad creepy, and honestly, it likely is. Normally, the job is rather tedious. I've never had to do it, myself, since I was second-choice when it came to Buffy Summers.

However, as of late, two Watchers have reported in saying that the girls they were watching were murdered. One death is one thing. After all, not all girls are—in the end—chosen to become the Slayer. So, a few are killed simply by fate. A car accident or some other such affair. Yet, murder? That is a rare event. Especially doubled. The meeting was called to discuss the purpose behind these murders. I also took the opportunity to inform the Council as a whole of the Hellmouth's awakening underneath Sunnydale.

Whether these two events are related has yet to be determined, but since I've long become disillusioned with coincidences, I think the answer is rather obvious. Those who have been watching potentials have been informed to arm themselves in preparation to defend the lives of those they're watching in the event that these attacks continue. If potentials are, indeed, being targeted how this person or persons is able to determine who the potentials are is unsettling. None but the Watchers have the capability and resources to determine the potentials. Instead of returning to Sunnydale, as I hoped to do, it appears I might best be used here. If I can discover who is behind killing these potentials, we might further delay whatever the Hellmouth is cooking up next.

Though I miss my Slayer considerably, and all those in Sunnydale, it seems they'll have to go it a little longer without me. Though, based on my phone call with Buffy after my Council meeting, it sounds as though they're doing just fine. Willow was found. Apparently, there was a Gnarl on the loose that had paralyzed Dawn—she's fine now—and Willow. Buffy and the others had been unable to see Willow because Willow had unknowingly worked a bit of magic and made herself unable to see—and be seen—by the Scoobies.

So, she did not run off. We just literally lost her for a time. Based on what Buffy said, it sounds as though peace has been made between Willow and the others. I cannot even begin to write what a relief this knowledge has brought to me. Whenever some great doom reared its ugly head, we have always been together to face it. I'm not sure I want to chance it by having us divided.

For now, I must pack my bags and find the closest potential. I'm not sure when the next time I'll be able to reach Buffy will be. I'm afraid without Willow here, I'm rather hopeless when it comes to making Skype work, and I've yet to purchase a cell phone. I suppose I had best embrace this new technological world . . . though it makes me ill at the thought. Perhaps I can delay that leap a bit longer . . .

After all, how much trouble can Buffy and the others get into?

-Rupert Giles

2002


	111. Bring on the Night

It's happened. Robson is dead, and as was the Potential under his care. Should anyone find this journal, inform Buffy Summers in Sunnydale that she must protect them at all costs. It's the First. She must find a way to destroy it, lest the Slayer line be eliminated.

* * *

Gods, I could keel over right about now.

Still alive. At least, I claim to be whilst penning this entry. A few days have passed since my ability to write. I've been to one part of the country to the next. Everything has turned on its head. Allow me to begin where my last entry left off.

Once Willow was in Sunnydale properly, I broke off contact to begin my search for the Potentials and their Watchers. To my dismay, those I came upon were already slaughtered before I arrived. I contacted the Council to inform them, hoping that they'd be able to reach the other living Potentials and Watchers and bring them to headquarters where they might be more readily guarded. They gave me the address of three more Potentials, and I drove, cabbed, trained and even took a dreaded subway to reach them.

An aside, I am not fond of the underground, nor hurtling at top speeds through it. It's as if we're just daring the earth to remain still while we catapult through it. Utterly terrifying. Whoever thought traveling underground like a mole attached to a rocket was completely bonkers.

When I arrived at my first address, it was Robson's home. To my horror, I found him on the floor, bleeding out. The poor chap was too far gone for me to help him, but he managed to tell me the First had begun its crusade against the Slayer line. A true Watcher to the very end. His Potential was dead at his side, and the barbarity with which she was executed . . . This entire ordeal shall follow me the rest of my life in nightmares, I'm afraid.

With my first search fruitless, I moved onto the next two. Though their Watchers had been murdered, I managed to secure two Potentials—Molly and Anabelle. With them in tow, I traveled back to the Council . . . covertly. It was clear to me that the Council was going to drag its feet and push Buffy instead of support her, so I decided that I'd . . . take what we needed and go. The fact that I only stole a few volumes, I think, should be a testament to my willpower. That library holds secrets as ancient as evil itself. A true librarian's sultry dream.

With these precious texts in my possession, I returned to my two Potentials and boarded passage for us to New York. We're currently on an airplane there now. Annabelle and Molly are quite well-behaved, I'm pleased to say. They are not fully aware of the threat that hangs over their head, simply because they have not fully that part of the world. They are only Potentials . . . the next-in-lines should Faith and Buffy fall. Granted, only one of them will be Called, but since we have no way of determining who that might be, all must be protected.

My intentions are to make one quick stop in New York. There's another Potential there that has yet to be killed, and I remain hopeful that I shall reach her in time. Then, the four of us shall head to Sunnydale, where we will regroup with Buffy. She is, quite literally, our only hope. The First is a force entirely beyond our scope to fully understand. We don't know how to battle it, or even how to hurt it. Even once we discover some means of injuring—if we do—it will have to be Buffy's hand that wields it. She's the Slayer in truth, and her Calling was born to combat exactly this force that the First embodies. Evil—in its most primal form.

There is another concern as well—the Watcher's Council has been annihilated. Shortly after I had stolen those books—right when we were boarding our plane, in fact—the entire organization was bombed. Our flight was delayed, since authorities needed to check everyone at the airport before allowing us to leave. Thankfully, all of my weapons are currently in Buffy's possession, otherwise I likely would have been detained.

I never got on with the Council, especially the Director, Quentin. Still, it saddens the heart to know that they all perished. Not to mention all of the lore we have lost in the fire. What remains are the books in my possession, and this journal, which has catalogued the various demons Buffy and her friends have faced over the years. Should we survive this ordeal, I might write up some form of bestiary for future generations. Someone will need to. And . . .

I've just realized. I am the only Watcher left. There may be a few others out there, scattered to the wind, true, and then there's that silly bloke in LA still, but he doesn't really count. Well, I'm sure Travers is rolling in his grave now. Wouldn't be entirely surprised if he started haunting me. Bloody lovely. I'll attempt to contact other cells throughout the world in the hopes that they remain active, but . . . if headquarters has been destroyed, I can't imagine they've fared much better.

Once we reach Sunnydale, I shall close this entry. Here's to hoping picking up the next Potential goes without a hitch.

* * *

I have been reunited with my beloved Scoobies.

Oh, and the world is most assuredly doomed.

Picking up the third Potential—Kennedy—was quite simple, thankfully. We hopped back onto another flight and made the rest of the trek to Sunnydale. Suffice it to say, three-fourths of us are incredibly jet-lagged. Wide-eyed or not, however, I got us to Buffy's home in one piece. I just wish they had all remained so. We've lost one already . . . Annabelle.

When we arrived, we reconvened with the others, and I shared what little knowledge I have about the First. That it never shows its true face and instead comes in the form of those who have passed away. It cannot touch, and instead manipulates and uses its followers named the Bringers to see its needs met. Apparently, they have met already the Bringers already. As have I when one attempted to kill me when I found Robson's body. I dispatched him, however. The Bringers who attacked Buffy's home—and allow me to note that it looks as though her home was raided—were there for a purpose. They kidnapped Spike, who they had been holding here.

That's an entire story in itself. Apparently, Spike has been feeding off of people again. Or something of the sort. The gist is that he's mad. Frankly, I still don't understand why he's alive, but since Buffy seems to think we require him for an extra bit of muscle against the First, I'm not going to argue the point. But he should be dead.

I suppose I should include a tangent here about how each of the Scoobies are doing. Anya is with the Scoobies again, despite her brief return as a Vengeance Demon. She appears to be her normal, blunt self. From what I can tell, she and Xander are still separated. Xander has become our go-to Mr. Fix It. With the damage done to Buffy's home, he's been attempting to patch up the holes in a low-cost way. Dawn is still attending school, and I'm pleased to say that she remains a bright light. Despite the danger lurking over us all, she has remained upbeat and earnest in her desire to help. Willow was a tad shaken. Shortly before I arrived with the Potentials, she and the others had attempted a locator spell to find the First, and it had used the link to actually possess Willow. The poor girl was subjected to the full primal force of evil. It's no wonder she's scared out of her wits about using her magic. She's likely terrified that some taint remains and will drive her to her darker side once again. And, finally, Buffy continues to counsel at Sunnydale High. She's quite proud of it. Even has her own desk and computer.

Besides the usual gang and the Potentials, there was one other new face by the name of Andrew. A bit squeaky-voiced. For whatever reason, he constantly reminds me of a rodent of some sort. This is the same Andrew who ran with Warren—murderer of Tara. He seems quite weak-willed and . . . well . . . for lack of better word, squishy. It seems the First used him in an attempt to open a seal in the basement of Sunnydale High. Ultimately, he proved too weak for the First to use, so now he's lumped with us whether he—or we—like it.

The First's motive is clear to us: Eliminate the Slayer-line. The effects of doing such would be catastrophic. It is the Slayer who keeps evil balanced. Without her, the darkness would pervade the earth. Life, as we know it, would be changed considerably. Hundreds of millions would die, and the rest would likely be turned into monsters. Evil will win if the First is successful.

Buffy's first action was to locate where the First might be hiding—and more importantly—where it might be hiding Spike. She mentioned a cavern beneath a Christmas tree lot where she had first encountered the First—apparently in the form of Jenny Calendar, no less—and so I joined her. It was to be a strictly reconnaissance mission, so we didn't need the entire team . . . and it allowed us to catch up a bit. Perhaps it was the close proximity to Christmas, but Buffy expressed her desire for me to pop around socially, instead of when the world was ending—that she missed me. Despite my love for my home country, I had actually intended to make a final move to Sunnydale, so that I might be closer to her and the rest of the gang. Circumstances—like the apocalypse—rather delayed those plans. Still, I assured her that I missed her as well and would visit socially once we battled back the darkness once again.

Will life ever be so simple? Doubtful.

Once we found the lot, it took Buffy's clumsiness—and luck—to discover the cavern. Meaning, she fell in. Not quite the covert entrance we were hoping for, but it got the job done. I was ordered to wait above, and so I did. Anxiously. As always. As she inspected the cavern for signs of Spike or the First, I explored the area. Other than the entrance to the cavern, the area didn't seem too corrupted by something as tainting as the source of all evil. Indeed, whoever chose that spot to sell Christmas trees was obviously intending to do so again, for I saw a sign advertising the lot would be open soon for "All a Family's Christmas Needs." How about a Christmas miracle?

During my inspection, I heard Buffy crying out below and rushed back to the entrance to find her clawing her way out of it. Thankfully, the sun rose just as she climbed out. The creature that had attacked her would have killed us both otherwise. I'm afraid our chances of winning this thing have become even more bleak. The First has enlisted Turok-Hans to aid it.

Before last night, I thought they were a myth, or at best—extinct. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Turoks are an ancestor to modern vampires. They're ancient—beyond ancient even. They're more animal than anything, single-minded, powerful killing machines. A steak through the heart isn't enough to kill it. Since any possible research down on Turoks was likely destroyed with the rest of the Council's library, I fear we're rather crippled in discovering a means to killing it. I'll search through the materials I do have, of course, in the hopes that I might find something. But I'm not optimistic. What we do know is that it has a severe weakness to sunlight. Though that's not exactly the most reliable defense, since the sun doesn't quite remain 24/7. Not even here in California.

This news was regaled to the Potentials, per Buffy's decision. I had thought we might spare them anymore news that might make our crusade appear hopeless, but . . . I understand why Buffy chose to include them. Whether they want to be or not, they're in this battle. An educated soldier is better than one walking in blind. I also pushed for Buffy to get some rest following her fight, but she seems almost . . . scared of the idea. Nightmares, perhaps? Instead, she headed off to work at the high school, intending to "Google it." I've no idea what that means, but it sounds rather obscene.

Her research, regardless of how she went about it, was fruitless. So, as night fell, we prepared for the worst. We fully expected that the Turok would return and kill us all. The house was abuzz with nerves and frantic energy. Even I felt the cold coil of dread in my stomach, but I tried to reassure them—Buffy the most. She is our General. Some of the Potentials have had some difficulty in following her leadership. They don't really know her, nor have they seen the miraculous feats she's pulled off, so it's understandable. But I think I've convinced them to have faith in her . . . at least presently. I just hope Buffy has faith in her decisions as well.

One lost faith. As I mentioned before, Annabelle perished. She chose to run from the house, and in so doing, ran right into the Turok's arms. She was killed, the poor, silly girl. Buffy ran after her in the hopes of saving her, but she was too late. Once again, she entered battle with the Turok and this time came out . . . I shall simply say that I was terrified we'd lose her when we found her. Willow, Xander and I ran off after Buffy to offer some form of support, but we found her under a collapsed scaffold. The Turok had left, obviously disinterested since it couldn't reach her to feed off of.

I carried her to Xander's car, and we returned to the home. The poor girl . . . She's been through scraps before, but this was just . . . It's a wonder she survived. I believe she may even be suffering some internal bleeding. With the rate of her regeneration, however, I think it will fix itself up in time, but . . . she frightened me, certainly. Without Buffy, our cause is lost. Half an hour ago, I'd have said even with Buffy, our cause is lost. The Turok swatted her like a fly, and that was only one.

But Buffy came downstairs, bleeding, cut, bruised, and gave us all a hell of a speech. She admitted to being afraid—we're all afraid—but that it made her all the more resolute to fight. The Slayer officially declared war on the First, promising to take the fight to them. I'm afraid any attempt to recapture her glorious speech would fail to copy the impact of her words, but . . . we felt it. The atmosphere in the house changed from desperation to determination. We've a great deal of work to do before we're ready to charge in, but . . .

We may just pull this off, after all.

-Rupert Giles

2002


	112. Showtime

Slayer: 1, First: . . . Actually, let's not count how many kills the First has notched.

The important news is that Buffy has found a way to destroy the Turok-Han. Apparently, it was as simple as beheading. Though, based on the story she told me, it was a tad more than just 'simple.' Whilst Anya and I spent the day crossing dimensions, Buffy received word via our Seer in the Coven that a Potential was in Sunnydale that we had yet to collect. This was brought to our attention the day after Buffy had secured our newest housemate—Rona.

She and Xander went to bring this new Potential to our fold, but they discovered a dead body—Eve's dead body. I should note that Eve has been with us a few days—a polite girl from the Southern portion of America. There was nothing odd or mistrustful in her way, so it was quite shock to find out that she had been the First parading around the entire time. We were infiltrated, and we didn't even realize it. With the discovery of Eve's body, Buffy and Xander rushed back home to confront the First-Eve living with the others.

As one can imagine, since the First is quite fond of doing so, First-Eve taunted the girls—and Buffy—and poofed away with a promise that the Turok-Han was coming to visit them that night. With little time to prepare, they armed themselves and waited. As night fell, the Bringers stood outside of the house, acting as a sort of wall to ensure they remained within the house. The Turok came not long after. Willow used her magic for the first time since briefly being possessed by the First, and though the shield she cast failed, she explained to me that it had all been part of a plan.

As of late, the girls have been . . . anxious. Understandably so. They don't know Buffy. They're not aware of the achievements she's made. So, when she first failed in destroying the Turok, they became concerned. After all, this is the young woman to whom they have entrusted their lives. There has been some . . . dissension . . . in the ranks. Some wish to leave, others wish to help, few stand beside Buffy, trusting her plan—being patient to wait for a plan. So, Buffy, Willow and Xander concocted a plan to get them all on the same page.

With Willow's shield failing, they rushed out of the house—killing a few Bringers on the way, hooray for that—and were taken to a construction site. Buffy led the Turok there and fought him for the Potentials to see. It was there that she took a bit of a beating—though decidedly less than the last time she faced the Turok—and sliced his head off with a steel wire. The First lost one of its prized fighters, and Buffy intends to sneak down into the hive—so to speak—in a bit to rescue Spike.

I've only just returned home, myself. Anya and I—though it took some convincing on Anya's part—sought out the oracle known as Beljoxa's Eye. This . . . oracle . . . exists in a dark dimension—a place between places. In order to access it, one must be a demon. Since Anya didn't believe she had a "key" to enter, she brought us to an ex of hers named Torg. I learned far too much about Anya and Torg in that span of three minutes than I ever needed to know.

She attempted sexual bribery, but Torg was unmoved due to her . . . human . . . species. Anya was quite offended. I'm honestly not entirely sure when sexual bribery worked for her before . . . with Xander, I suppose. And now I've given myself proper nightmares for the evening. Brilliant.

Since Anya's foolproof plan was unsuccessful, I stepped in. With a well-worded threat about the Slayer potentially ruining the demon's business and livelihood, Torg reluctantly—if not aggressively—opened the portal for us. Anya and I stepped through and found ourselves in a place . . . It's difficult to describe. It was dark, certainly. I think we were only able to see because Beljoxa's Eye allowed us to see. And it was quite windy, though I'm not sure from what gale. It seemingly came from everywhere and made it difficult to focus. Whether this is something similar to all dark dimensions or merely the one Beljoxa resides in, I'm unsure. Dark dimensions aren't exactly thoroughly researched, and I can easily say I have no great desire to return to one anytime soon.

Beljoxa's Eye was awaiting us. I shall use the term 'he,' for the pitch of his voice ran masculine to me, though something like Beljoxa likely doesn't have a gender at all. How to describe him . . . a large nerve optic attached to a mass made of numerous eyes instead of one. It was rather . . . discomforting to see . . . some of the eyes were closed . . . some were half-closed . . . but they were all looking in different direction, no doubt seeing into countless different dimensions and parallels of those dimensions. It must be quite taxing.

The news Beljoxa gave us was disheartening. Though he admitted he could not see the future—only the present and past—he said that the First existed before the creation of the universe and would remain after it was gone. I inquired why the First attacked now, since it had always existed. There had been quite a few times in this world's history where it might have sprung, after all. According to Beljoxa, the mystical forces that surround the Slayer have been . . . disrupted. This disruption made those forces vulnerable, which gave the First enough of a chance to bring its forces against the Slayer line. This disruption was caused by the Slayer.

After that, Beljoxa essentially expelled us from his dimension, and we returned to Sunnydale—though at night. It's obvious that there was some sort of difference in time duration between the two dimensions. Being back in our world was rather disjointing after spending only a span of a few minutes within Beljoxa's dimension. I can only imagine what would happen to us had we stayed for an hour. Anya expressed her confusion as to why the Slayer dying would disrupt the mystical forces, and I corrected her. After all, a Slayer dying was simply part of the inevitably of being the Slayer.

No, the disturbance was brought about by Buffy returning to life. This was not something Buffy could be held accountable for, as she was rather alright with being dead and in heaven. Anya all too readily took on the blame. She, and the others who had brought Buffy back a little more than a year ago. Though she added—and this jolted me—that the world would have been better off if Buffy had stayed dead. I understand the sentiment, certainly, and I was set-against rising Buffy from the dead—as Willow can attest. The Potentials and Watchers and Council who had all been slain would be alive today, this is true. A darkness that threatens to consume the world would still be in hiding, waiting for its moment to strike.

But the world would not be better off if Buffy had remained dead. Certainly not mine.

-Rupert Giles

2003


	113. PotentialThe Killer in Me

These Potentials are going to be the death of me.

After a short trip to China to investigate a possible Potential sighting—unfortunately, she was already deceased—I returned to Sunnydale to find that Dawn had been attacked. Thankfully, she was unharmed—besides the usual bumps and scrapes, of course. Another Potential was discovered in Sunnydale shortly after I left, and to discover their identity, Willow cast a tracking spell that seemed to hit Dawn. Long story short, the actual Potential—our newest named Amanda—was on the other side of the door where Dawn stood when the spell hit her.

Incorrectly believing that she was a Potential, Dawn helped Amanda face a vampire on their own. From what Buffy reported to me, she had brought the other Slayers out on a training session in which they faced a vampire on their own as well for the first time. A bit of tough love, that one. My own methods were rather soft compared to Buffy's, but I understand her reasoning. We're short on time, and these girls need to reach Buffy's levels in weeks as opposed to years.

I'm happy to report both parties came back with all members intact. The Potentials are particularly pleased with themselves. I believe they are ready to sit through the ritual Buffy and I performed together to contact the First Slayer. Buffy thinks it's important that they understand where their power originates from and I agree. I, personally, am not all too eager to engage with the First Slayer again, even if she isn't directly coming to me. I still have nightmares at times that feature her chasing me through a series of theatrical productions. It's frightening.

It pales in comparison, however, to being forced to sit passenger-side in a car driven by an overly-energetic teenaged girl with equally energetic teenaged girls in the backseat. It will be a wonder if we reach the desert in one piece. The trip began with hauling Molly out of the boot of the car, since Rona seemed to think that would give her driving privileges. With all the noise, however, I'm beginning to wish I had left at least one of them in the boot, and perhaps another tied to the top of the car. Mayhap by then, I can have at least ten minutes of peace and quiet.

No, I'm afraid, even that would be impossible. Rona, our fearless chauffeur, has almost crashed into three cars and one hapless pedestrian since we left the Summers' residence. I drive on the other side of the road, and I'm still capable of understanding left turn lanes from the straight ahead lanes. If we survive the journey, I'll report on the ritual.

* * *

We survived, but I was thoroughly assaulted by none other Xander, Anya, Dawn and Andrew during the night. Apparently, they believed I was the First. My old chum Robson called the Summer's residence to check up on me, since the last he saw of me was getting into a tangle with a Bringer, and that set them off into thinking I had died and was, in fact, the First. I applaud their caution but really. As if I couldn't handle a one-on-one with a blind cult member? Rather offensive, really.

What was supposed to be a solemn and inspiring ritual ended up turning into a late-night camping trip. The girls returned, some of them solemn, but it was all forgotten rather quickly when Xander revealed he had brought marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate. So, instead of contemplating our purpose in life and getting in touch with the primal forces that resided within them, we sang campfire songs and ate a considerable amount of S'mores. God help us.

We've only just returned, and Buffy and Spike are both out. Considering that it's day-time, I'm a tad worried. Willow is here, however, and is less worried. Speaking of Willow, apparently she was . . . less Willow and more Warren last night. I can only imagine the toll that took on her psyche. She's considerably more Willow now, I'm pleased to say. Once we've fully unloaded the car, I'll have to speak with her and ensure that she is still, as she has said, "one with the Force."

Considering I just heard a car window break, I had best be off to discipline.

I am going to murder these Potentials.

-Rupert Giles

2003


	114. First Date

What is it about the looming end of the world that makes everyone's libidos stir-crazy?

Honestly, you don't see me, an incredibly healthy, virile, charming and exotic foreigner foraging the local pubs and social hangouts for a bit of romance. Apparently, however, the others don't seem to understand the imminent threat we're under. Xander abandoned the girls for a date. Unsurprising to anyone, his date was actually a demon who intended to sacrifice him, so she could pledge herself to the First. I consider that karma, myself, for skirting his duties to the Potentials for a single night of a pleasurable five minutes.

He's not alone in abandoning his duty. Buffy, herself, decided to take her boss on a date. Disregarding how inappropriate that is in terms of an employer-employee relationship, it was irresponsible of Buffy to accept. Investigating a potential threat is one thing, but she wasn't fooling anyone with her true intentions—to actually go on a date. While I'm happy she's taking steps to move herself away from Spike—which I will discuss in a moment here—the timing is wrong. She is our shield. We're nothing but sitting ducks for the First when she's out of the house. It was a risk, and I've grown tired of these . . . these young adolescents not understanding how deep of shite we're in. Pardon my French.

Now, Spike. Spike, Spike, Spike. In her infinite wisdom, Buffy has decided to remove the chip that was formerly keeping him from harming humans. She believes that because Spike has a soul, he will not harm anyone. Buffy has been fighting demons and monsters with inhuman faces too long. She's forgotten that even those with souls can hurt others. I'm a living example of this sad fact. It's a gamble, and with the current long list of enemies we face, adding another variable is completely ludicrous. Why she chose now, of all times, is entirely mindboggling. If the chip could be removed before, then it can be removed in the future. Once the largest threat to humanity has been vanquished, then we can look at risking an unchained vampire being released into the world. Before? Completely irresponsible. Her emotional ties to Spike have clouded her judgement.

They simply don't understand. They've only seen a taste of the slaughter that the First is capable of. I've been there, at each murder of a Potential or a Watcher. I've seen more blood than flesh that the Bringers have left behind. Every time I fail to save a Potential, to arrive in time, I see the barbarity of the First firsthand. They don't. They don't see the stakes. If we fail, that carnage will spread over the entire globe. Humanity cannot even begin to hope to overcome it.

Luckily, I managed to save our latest Potential hit. Her name is Chao-Ahn, and the unfortunate bit is that she speaks Cantonese . . . of which I know very little. Despite being able to speak and read a myriad of languages, Mandarin and Cantonese were the two I never had time to fully learn. They're remarkably different from the Romantic languages, and so I admittedly have always had a difficult time in learning them. However, despite this barrier, communication with Chao-Ahn has been more or less successful. There was a small mishap with some visual aids that, apparently, terrified and made her ill, but . . . education is important!

Speaking of education, I should report what Buffy gleaned from her "entirely business-oriented outing with Principal Wood." He's the son of a Slayer. I had once heard word of a Slayer who had given birth while she had been activated, but the details were kept out of the lecture. I think the Council frowned upon this familial tie. It allowed for a Slayer to focus on something else other than their duty, and the Council has traditionally never been entirely fond of that. Buffy, especially, seems quite curious about this revelation. I've always noticed a maternal streak in Buffy. I think motherhood is something that she's always desired for herself but believed impossible. If she remains attached to Spike, that possibility will always be denied to her.

On the home front, the First has reached out to Andrew once more in an attempt to convince him to shoot the Potentials. Thankfully, Andrew informed Willow, and she put a wire on him to . . . spy on the First, I suppose? Our desperation is becoming quite clear, I think. The First discovered the deception and threatened Andrew. If nothing else, we've completely pissed it off. All the more reason for everyone to get serious about it.

It's certainly serious about its intent for us.

-Rupert Giles

2003


End file.
